


Lovers' Knot

by authocracy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Accidental Knotting, Alcohol, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Amulet of Mara, Awkward Flirting, Bathing/Washing, Bigotry & Prejudice, Breasts, Canon-Typical Violence, Doggy Style, Dungeon, F/M, Knotting, Marriage Proposal, Mating, Mating Rituals, Riding, Scent Kink, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Vaginal Fingering, Werewolf Courting, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-04 11:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authocracy/pseuds/authocracy
Summary: Vilkas can't stand the new recruit. Miri is a tiny Breton mage, and the most she knows about combat is 'try to avoid the sharp end.' He has no idea why Kodlak gave her a trial instead of sending her to work in some lord's house, or to a nunnery. The Companions are a vaunted fighting guild of world renown, not some refuge for strays and charity cases - and in order to protect their biggest secret, it has to stay that way.If it'll please Kodlak, Vilkas will be grudgingly polite to her...but that doesn't mean he has tolikeit.(A story about facing fears, overcoming prejudices, and finding love in all of the strangest places.)





	1. An Inauspicious Start

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at skyrimkinkmeme (first Livejournal, then Dreamwidth) in response to the prompt:
> 
> _I'd love a smutfic with a werewolf character (not transformed) rutting with the F!DB for the first time since getting the beast blood and suddenly knotting inside her, and coming again and again seemingly endlessly. Bonus points: Doggy style position, Werewolf panicking that he's hurting F!DB, F!DB bossing him around and demanding an equal number of orgasms as he had._
> 
> **Fair warning: this is an extremely slow work in progress; it's well over two years in the making at this point.** We're all plotted out and I'm not going anywhere, but I'm a subscriber's nightmare! If that will bother you, feel free to come back when I'm finished. :)

Miri. New recruit of the Companions, and responsible for nearly all of Vilkas's recent problems.

He'd been standoffish at first when she'd been welcomed into the Companions with open arms, suspicious of her earnestness, her warmth. Life has not been kind to many of them, so when she wanders in, seemingly innocent and with no real taste or talent for hand-to-hand combat, he's angry. The rest of them had to prove their way in, had to pull their weight. For her to just - waltz in, unknowing of the sacrifices they've made, the dedication...

To make matters worse, he can hear her heart thumping erratically when Vilkas comes near her, and that only irritates him more. He dislikes her, but he'll respect Kodlak's decision. Whatever his personal feelings on the matter, she's still his Shield-sister in training.

He could laugh when Farkas gives her a shakedown mission. The thought of the tiny Breton intimidating a housecat is laughable, let alone another person.

He's polishing his shield when she comes back with a bloodied lip and a black eye, stiff-backed and maybe even a little proud. "It's done," she tells Farkas. "May the crowd at the Bannered Mare be my witness. What else is there for me to do?"

"Nothing tonight," Farkas says firmly, but not unkindly. He's always been trusting. Probably gave her an easy target. "You need to rest. Have Tilma see to your face."

"Hm?" She touches a hand to her lip, and then goes chalk-pale when her finger comes back with the blood. "Oh," she says, and brings her hands to her face. A warm, golden light surrounds her--she's using _magic_ , Vilkas realizes, shouts, grabs her shoulders--

Miri stumbles backwards, light winking out of her hands. "Vilkas?" she says uncertainly, looks at him with a clear, open face. "What's wrong?"

"You're a magic user," he snarls, yanking his hands back. "Most of us here are _proud_ of our battle scars. No wonder you're soft."

His blood is boiling. He storms downstairs into his room and slams the door shut. He has just enough presence of mind to lock it and strip out of his armor before he loses his grip to the wolf entirely, shredding through his padded clothing, arms lengthening, claws sharpening.

He feels oddly better and worse, once it's done. His emotions are always blunted in his wolf form - if it's not about the hunt, the wolf doesn't care nearly as much. Except, apparently, all his wolf wants to do today is nose into the mess of his blankets and sulk.

He isn't angry, he realizes. He's _hurt_. How could Kodlak have trusted her, letting a magic user into a group of warriors? 

There's a sharp knock at his door. "Brother," Farkas calls. "She's done nothing to you. You need to come out and apologize."

Fat chance of that. Vilkas isn't sorry for what he said. She thinks she can waltz in with fancy magic, take over the only pack-family he's ever had, the only stable roof over his head?

He growls. Farkas understands his noises, he'll know a 'fuck off' when he hears one.

"Fine," Farkas says, "but you're being a child about this. She's nice. Get to know her instead of sulking."

That's Farkas for you. He's blunt, but he cares about Vilkas, and he's hardly ever wrong. The first gnawings of guilt chew at him.

Still. He's going to stay here, in his den, the one his pack protects, where it's warm and safe and has no magic or enchantments of any kind. Just for a little while longer.


	2. A Visit from Kodlak

Vilkas drowses for a while. He can't fall completely asleep, not anymore, but he's able to rest his eyes and quiet his mind, almost more a meditation than anything. So, he's groggy when he sits up back in his human form, yelps when Kodlak is sitting in the chair opposite his bed. "Hello, Vilkas," Kodlak says, warm and mischievous. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"The door was _locked_ ," Vilkas points out, hastily covering more of himself with the blanket. He's hoping it to come out as a grumble but it ends up sounding more like a whine. Kodlak always brings that out in him.

"I have my ways," Kodlak says. "I hear that you and our new recruit are at odds?"

"I don't know how you would expect otherwise," he says. "Her, a magic user."

"And we of the inner Circle don't rely upon magic?" Kodlak asks, looking pointedly down at the shredded clothing on Vilkas's floor.

"It isn't the same," he says stiffly. "We're experienced warriors. We prove ourselves before we're allowed to become...what we are. Ours has a price."

"Aye, that it does," Kodlak sighs. "But so does hers. Still, I would understand if you were angry with me for allowing her to train here. Just know that you and she are more alike than you might think."

"I'm not angry with you," Vilkas says quickly. And he isn't, really. Kodlak's people-sense has always been sound. And it's true that they have no shortage of teachers. "I'm just...confused. Why her," he says finally.

That's the heart of it, really. He's baffled as to why she, of all the hopefuls who've come to train and learn, made it in, where they've sent others of her ilk to priesthoods or serving positions. Especially with her magic being that strong, it would make more sense for her to be there, unlikely that she'll ever need to rely on any of the skills they teach her. 

Besides, she's soft, noble-soft, with a pretty face and high cheekbones. They're probably just a stopping point for her before she lets some lord wed and knock her up, goes back to riches and comfort. She's no Aela, deft-armed and sharp-tongued, no Njada, gruff and square and sturdy. She doesn't even have Ria's guts or ambition; she's squeamish and seems perfectly happy to follow orders. Stay put, do as she's told, do simple chores around town. 

Yes, she'll make someone a perfectly boring, subservient housewife, but she's not fit for a moment to be a Companion.

"Why her indeed," Kodlak says. "Do you know who she is, Vilkas?"

"Besides a field mouse in a den of wolves?"

Kodlak laughs. "As she well knows," he says. "She, Vilkas...she is the Dragonborn."

Vilkas's jaw drops. "The Dragonborn?" he asks. "Please tell me you're joking."

Kodlak shakes his head, a twinkle in his eye. "No, my lad. Body of a mortal and the soul of a dragon. I, too, had my doubts, but the guards who were with her in the field confirmed her story for me. She is currently housing the soul of the dragon that was slain just outside of Whiterun."

"By the Nine," Vilkas swears. Gods, they're all _doomed_. He can't think of anyone possibly _less_ suited to be a hero of legend. Maybe Olava the Feeble, but she seems like a crafty old lady, at least. Miri doesn't have a crafty bone in her body.

"She came to me and asked for our help, in desperation," Kodlak continues. "She's honest, and wise beyond her years. She knows that she's unsuited for the task; no one has magic enough to take down a dragon with raw skill alone, without an ounce of combat training. She knows that she needs to improve, and quickly. She's already come quite far in a week."

Vilkas supposes, grudgingly, that that's true. He knows that Aela has been working with her on her archery, since she’d said she had some experience at that, at least. Dizzily, he realizes that they've been practicing with flying targets, working on her aim. To shoot a tiny chink in a dragon's scaly armor, presumably.

"She is young," Kodlak says. "And she is helpless. She has no family to speak of, at least none that she knows about. She was mistakenly captured with a band of other Stormcloak soldiers at the border, and in the shuffle she was hit on the head and lost all of her memory. 

"Not to mention her coin purse," Kodlak continues. "She's been working double-time, running errands for the townsfolk and the Jarl's steward during the day to have the coin for us to train her at night. We offered to train her for free, but she was insistent that we not give her any special treatment. It is a destiny that she doesn't want, for a people that aren't necessarily even hers...but she is facing it, because it's the honorable thing to do." He looks Vilkas in the eye, and gives him another one of those enigmatic Kodlak smiles. "What past she does or doesn't have, she has chosen us as her present. And I think that shows considerable bravery, do you not?"

Vilkas can honestly say he's stunned. And a little guilty - Kodlak needing to come and lecture him like a naughty little boy, rather than a fully-fledged adult Companion. He opens his mouth to speak, and whatever he might have said is lost in a mighty, booming roar, so powerful it rattles the stone foundations of Jorrvaskr. It's female, and with a start, he realizes that he recognizes the voice.

"Ah, Miri's evening vocal training," Kodlak says, and chuckles to himself. He stands, and pats Vilkas's shin through the covers. "I know you have your doubts. She may be a field mouse now, as you say, but I think we'll make a she-wolf out of her yet."


	3. An Explanation

Vilkas tries several times to drop back into his meditation, but his concentration keeps skittering away from him. He feels guilty when, as the others come back laughing their past his door, all clearly having had some mead, Miri, of all people, hushes them quiet.

He may not like her, but that doesn't mean he wants her to tiptoe around him.

_The Dragonborn is afraid of you,_ his conscience whispers at him. _Your future shield-sister._

Vilkas huffs. If she can't take a little well-placed criticism, she's in the wrong line of work.

_Which she knows. And it isn't work she chose._

....Gods damn it all. He's obviously going to have to resort to other methods to calm himself tonight.

He opens his door, noting the little scuffs along the keyhole, and laughs reluctantly, imagining Kodlak picking the lock like a common thief to come in and talk to him. It's fine, though. He'll work his muscles to exhaustion, eat his fill, and then head back in and rest for the few hours before sunrise. He’ll make an effort to be friendlier to the whelp of a girl in the morning.

Except, when he's re-armored and ready, stepping into the cool night air of the Jorrvaskr balcony, who should be there but Miri herself.

She doesn't seem to notice that he's come out, single-mindedly focused on the straw dummy. She has a battleaxe in her hand - must have borrowed it from someone - and is blindly hacking away at the target. He can see the muscles in her arms shaking - she's clearly over-training herself, taxed to the point of exhaustion. And she doesn't even have the beast blood to fall back on.

"Miri," he says, and she yelps as she loses her grip, only barely avoids slicing her own foot off as she leaps out of the way of her own axe.

Well. Agile he'll give her.

"Vilkas," she gasps. Her heart is hammering. "I'm so sorry, did we wake you? We were trying to be quiet."

"I was awake," he says, picks up the axe and hefts it. It's cheap iron, but it's clearly been lovingly crafted. "Don't sleep much."

"Oh," she says. "Okay. Sorry. I, um. I don't sleep much either, so I thought, well, if I can't sleep, at least I can be productive and train..."

She trails off, tucking a lock of coppery hair behind her ear. "Obviously nearly maiming myself wasn't part of the plan," she mumbles, crouching to pull a little green bottle out of her satchel.

Now that Vilkas is looking, he can see the toll the past few weeks have taken on her. She's built muscle, but she's also increasingly thin, the dark circles under her eyes a telling testament to sleepless nights. He curses himself for not seeing it sooner. He should've been looking out for their newest member, and instead all he did was yell at her. Judge her, based on nothing but his own hatred and mistrust of magic, when all he's ever seen her do is healing and wards. Protection and self-defense.

He closes a hand around her wrist, and she looks up at him, surprised. "You don't need that," he says, as gently as he knows how. "You're running out of stamina quickly because your form isn't good, and you're overtired, so you'll be more prone to make mistakes."

To his surprise, she scowls. "I know my form isn't good," she snaps. "I know I don't have any real gift for this. But I'm trying to train out here where I'm not bothering anyone, do you have to keep _mocking_ me when I'm trying my hardest to get better-"

"I wasn't-!" he starts, and then blows out a breath, reins his temper in. Mercy, how she gets under his skin sometimes. "I wasn't trying to mock you," he says. "I was trying to help."

She looks at him warily, but doesn't say anything. That's a good sign, he guesses. "And I suppose I...owe you an apology for this morning, too," he adds. "I lost my temper. I know you're working hard. Magic and I don't mix very well. I don't know if Farkas said anything..."

"He didn't," Miri says flatly, and then sighs, wipes her hands over her face. "But apology accepted. I know I don't fit in here. And I know this place is important to you both. I just - I don't have anywhere else to _go_."

Her voice cracks on the last syllable, and Vilkas's own heart gives a guilty lurch. "You've done nothing wrong," he murmurs, turning over the blade of her axe. "Farkas and I were alone too, when Kodlak took us in. Our parents were worshippers of Talos. They were killed in the night by Thalmor mages, spying on the Empire. We woke up when we heard them scream and hid under the beds for...hours."

It's been a while since he's told this story, and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He can feel Miri's eyes on him, but after how he's treated her he thinks she's owed an explanation, at the very least. "They were both tortured by magic; burned and frozen, over and over again. They'd have done the same to us, if they caught us," he says. "We ran for miles until we ended up in Whiterun. We were hungry by morning, and Farkas smelled the food they'd set out for the warriors' breakfast, right on the balcony where we are now." He grins at the memory despite himself. "Kodlak quite literally caught us with our fingers in the pie."

"Vilkas," Miri says softly.

"I know you aren't them," he says, chuckles a little. "You couldn't possibly be, you go grey in the face at the sight of a little blood."

She laughs a little too, and he looks up at her, gives her a lopsided smile. "So," he says, "That's my sob story. I'm sorry if I...reacted poorly. I just wanted to say that - Kodlak told me a little about your situation, and I know what it's like, to have nowhere else to turn to. And I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome. I'm sure Kodlak is right, and with a little more training you'll do just fine."

She looks at him, and then reaches out, rubs his shoulder. "I'm sorry about your parents," she says. "And I'm sorry for startling you; I didn't mean to. But I appreciate you telling me. I hope we can be better friends, for the future."

Vilkas nods firmly, and then realizes he's still gripping her wrist where she's holding the potion. Startled, he drops her wrist, and he can feel a blush creeping up the back of his neck. "No potions," he grumbles. "You need real food, and a rest. If you want help with this," he says, handing her axe back, "You can come and find me, any time. I'll teach you."

"I think you've seen that I need all the help I can get," Miri says sheepishly, a blush of her own staining her cheeks. At least he's not the only one feeling awkward. She sits down at the table, and picks up an apple. Bless Tilma for always leaving food out. "Are you going to join me?" she asks, gesturing to the empty chair across from her.

"Nah, I'm going to try and go back to bed," he lies. He'll at least relax with a book for a little while, try to clear his mind. "I mean it, Miri. Don't stay up too late."

"I won't," she says, and it feels like just as much a lie as his, but she's smiling and relaxed when she says it. "Thanks, Vilkas. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he agrees. He opens the door back into the hall, and blows out a long breath.

Well. That could've gone a lot worse, he thinks, and smiles to himself as he jogs back down to his room.


	4. Breakfast with the Companions

Vilkas is sitting down to breakfast the next morning when Miri stumbles up the stairs. She's flushed and clearly disoriented, nearly trips over her own feet as she hurries to sit at the table. "Sorry," she mumbles, and lets out a jaw-cracking yawn as she pulls her hair out of a messy plait, anxiously combs her fingers through it. "Had a bit of a late start this morning."

"Ahh, my favorite drinking buddy," Torvar proclaims, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "We have a bit too much fun with you last night? That wasn't your first sip of mead, was it?"

"She was training last night, well after you presumably fell into your drunken stupor," Vilkas cuts in. "Unlike some others I could name, Miri seems to actually possess some self-control."

Ria's jaw drops across the table. Athis and Farkas, squabbling about weaponry as usual, fall silent at the increased tension, and Njada raises an eyebrow, which is about as much surprise as anyone ever gets from her anyway. "Oho!" Torvar shouts, delighted. "Leaping to her defense, are we, shield-brother? How _noble_ of you."

"Oh, stop it, both of you," Aela huffs, reaching over and cradling Miri protectively. "She's a Breton, Torvar, of course she can hold her liquor." Miri flashes her a grateful look, and Aela ruffles her hair. "And she's getting to be a damn fine shot, too. I'd watch your mouth if I were you."

"Doomed to live my life surrounded by dangerous beauties," Torvar sighs happily. "Miri, my darling, all I am saying is, the next time you feel the need for a little 'late-night sparring'...you can _come_ for me any time."

"You're disgusting," Ria sniffs. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Once a gutter-snipe, always a gutter-snipe," Torvar says easily, his face sliding into a lazy grin. "But we know a few more tricks than those nobles, eh?" He spreads two fingers and makes an obscene gesture.

Vilkas thinks Aela may actually throw a punch for a minute, but Skjor walks in and spreads his hands wide. "Calm down, everyone. We all have better things to do than squabble at the breakfast table - for instance, helping Tilma clear it. Farkas, you're excused from cleaning duties; I need a word, please."

Farkas stands and follows Skjor into his office. Vilkas reaches for his brother's empty plate, but Miri does, too. Their hands brush and she jumps, her heart starting to pound. One night isn't enough to clear her fear, Vilkas guesses, but a small, treacherous part of him is disappointed anyway. "I got it," Vilkas says, "but thanks."

"I can at least get his tankard," she insists, picking it up, and they share a careful smile.

"Torvar's tastelessness aside," he says, "if you want to spar today, I don't have any other plans." Partially because it's technically his day off from missions, but he wouldn't want her to think she was imposing.

"Really?" she breathes. "Oh, that would be fantastic. Um, let's see...I _was_ going to clear out a bandit cave for the Jarl today, but I suppose it can wait for another day or two, if you have time this afternoon?"

"I could go with you," he offers. "Someone to watch your back. Then we could come back here and train afterwards, if you're feeling up to it."

"That sounds nice," she says. "I would really appreciate that. I'll happily split the bounty with you, if you like."

Vilkas shakes his head. "I'll get to see you in action," he says. "Aela says it's something to see. That's well worth the price of admission."

"You at least have to take some of the loot home, then," she says, a hand pressed to her hip. "Last time I cleared out a group they had a lot of nice weapons and armor. I couldn't carry it all myself."

"I can do that," he agrees, and then smirks. "Wouldn't want you too tired to train, after all."

She grins at him. "Not a chance."

Vilkas gets a nudge at his calf, and he turns to see Farkas, eying him and Miri. "I can take over," he says, crouching at the washing-tub, and Miri smiles and hands him the drying rag. "All yours," she says, "Vilkas, I'm going to go get my pack together, and then I'll be ready to go. I'll meet you out front of the gate in half an hour or so?"

"Alright," he agrees. He can feel Farkas's eyes on him as he watches her go, and he turns to him after the hall door closes behind her. "What?" he says.

"Only you're allowed to tease her?" Farkas says, face sliding into a grin. "And here I was thinking you were destined to be mortal enemies."

Gods damn it. For someone who barely picks up a book, Farkas is way too perceptive for his own good. "There's a line between teasing her and making fun of her," he says, bristling. "And we had a talk last night. She's a good girl."

"Mhm," Farkas says calmly. "So you're accompanying her to clear out a bandit cave on your rest day."

"Well, _someone_ needs to watch her back," Vilkas snaps. "I'm not leaving the newly-trained recruit alone with a bunch of men and women twice her size."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Farkas says. He knows full well that neither of them sleeps after the transformation.

Vilkas throws his soapy rag at his brother and stomps inside, cheeks hot. He has packing of his own to do.


	5. The Bandit Camp

The walk to the camp feels impossibly short, despite the fact that it's considerably far away from Whiterun, and Vilkas is used to sprinting in his shifted form.

Maybe it's because he's not used to to traveling with any of his shield-siblings anymore, but it's nice to have someone to talk to on the trip west. Or rather, listen to; Miri keeps up a stream of nervous chatter where Vilkas can hardly get a word in edgewise. 

She’s done enough for the Jarl that he wants to make her one of his Thanes, apparently. Vilkas thinks it’s a political move to make the Dragonborn loyal to his city more than any real kindness, but he can't bring himself to interrupt her while she talks about her big plans to buy the long-abandoned Breezehome, next to Adrianne’s, and bring it up to modern standards. “Not that living in Jorrvaskr with everyone hasn't been wonderful,” she adds hurriedly, like he might take offense. “But it would be nice to have a place all my own to come back to. A safe place, inside a nice city, with lots of other children running around…” She gets a misty look in her eye. “Be able to settle down, after the fighting’s all over. It'll probably be quite a while before that happens, though.”

“No shame in investing in the future,” Vilkas says, after a pause to jump over a rocky cliff. “If that sort of thing keeps your spirits up.”

“Well, that’s what I think, too,” Miri says firmly, smiling at him, and she’s off to the races again, books she's read about people whose fortunes have dramatically changed after the Great War, for better and for worse. 

Vilkas is utterly charmed, despite his best instincts. _Dragonborn Wins All To Cause With Positive Attitude_ , he imagines the courier pamphlets reading, and has to stifle a laugh as she talks very seriously about how she’d like to keep bees in her future garden. 

Gods help him, she’s smart and funny, full of big plans and ideas. Vilkas has never seen the appeal of the dreamy, waifish things Torvar blithers on about, and he doesn't think Miri is quite that naive, but there's definitely a certain appeal to her honest exuberance, now that he’s looking for it.

Farkas wasn't wrong to like her, he thinks. They might even do well together, should he be interested. Maybe he’ll talk to his brother about it when they get back to Jorrvaskr, if she proves herself today.

With great reluctance, he hushes her as they draw closer to the bandit camp. “Oh, sorry, am I talking too much again,” she says, and Vilkas huffs a laugh, shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he murmurs. “We’re getting close now, just over that hill. I would draw your bow, were I you.”

“Oh!” she gasps, and then drops into a crouch. There's a loud clatter and raucous laughter from the camp, and her eyes go big and round.

“Stealth,” he murmurs, and she nods, and then sets her face in a look of grim determination as she notches an arrow, draws her bow taut.

She is, to his surprise, a _phenomenal_ shot. Though he supposes he shouldn't have been, if Aela vouched for her - the huntress doesn't suffer fools gladly. Still, the girl is accurate and deadly, arrows neatly lined up and hitting their mark straight through the vocal chords.

“Quickly,” Vilkas murmurs, once Miri has taken out all of her targets. “Let’s go inside before they notice anyone is absent. You keep picking them off, and I’ll clean up if you miss one.”

“Understood,” she whispers. “Let’s move.”

She’s like a completely different person with the adrenaline coursing through her, swift and sure despite the uneven footing as they make their way through the tunnel. Vilkas is impressed at the change. Perhaps she has warrior instincts after all.

Or...well, not _completely_ different, as one of their targets goes down with a particularly wet snick and a gurgle of blood, and Miri makes the most appalled and disgusted face Vilkas has ever seen from a supposed warrior. “Ugh, he got blood on me,” she pouts, wiping it off on a corner of the dirt cave wall, and Vilkas has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud as she hisses “grossgrossgrossgross get _off_!”

“No one ever tell you that blood is tacky, sweetling?” He doesn't know what compels him to throw the teasing endearment in, but it's worth it for the shock and then deadly look she shoots him.

“I know well more than a man ever will about blood, thank you very much,” she huffs. “That doesn't mean I like it. Especially not on my boots.”

This time, it’s Vilkas’s turn to gape. “Point taken,” he concedes, squeezing his eyes shut as a telltale blush snakes its way onto his face. Okay, so she's feistier than he’d given her credit for. Maybe she's a bit much for Farkas after all. “Let’s keep moving,” he says with an embarrassed cough.

The look she gives him as she saunters by him, fresh arrow notched, tells him she didn't miss it.

From there, it’s smooth sailing. The cave opens up enough that she's able to pick people off one by one, and then leads into a larger room with a still-burning cooking fire, pot sizzling on the stove. “That's odd,” she whispers, looking around as Vilkas steps into the room. “I really thought they’d have a chief... _Vilkas!_ ”

Her scream makes him startle away from the axe blade that certainly would have severed his shoulder, if not cut right through him. He hears a clatter, and she shouts “I’m sorry!” _Fantastic,_ he thinks, staggered by the chieftain's blow to his shield that comes immediately after, right when he actually really does kind of need her -

A jet of flame sails past him, and he whips his head around to see Miri, bow dropped, both hands outstretched and lit with dual columns of flame, combining into one massive stream. The bandit chieftain screams in agony, and Vilkas quickly recovers, lopping his head off with one neat blow.

The fire dies down immediately, and Miri lets out a wet, gasping sob, running over to him. “Vilkas,” she chokes, “are you okay, are you hurt, please tell me you’re alright-”

“I’m fine,” he says faintly. The stench of burning flesh is making him sick, dizzy.

“I’m so sorry,” she hiccups, and to his great shock, flings herself at him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. “I didn't mean to use magic, I panicked, I wasn't thinking, and after we just talked about it, you must _hate_ me-”

She breaks down into quiet sobs. She’s still holding onto him, and with some effort, Vilkas looks down at the charred, twisted corpse of the chieftain lying beneath them, arms still raised to strike a killing blow. Then he looks back down at Miri, skin ashen and weeping on his chest.

“I’m fine,” he says, in case she missed it the first time. Wonderingly, he adds, “I think you just saved my life,” kicking the mangled remains away and then draping his arms around her. It’s awkward with how heavily he’s armored, but she clings even a little tighter, sniffling, so he figures he's doing alright.

“I didn't mean to,” she hiccups, pulling back and looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, tears streaking through the coal dust on her face. “I was going to just shoot him but I didn't know if I’d be able to get to my arrows in time. It all happened so _fast_!”

“...I don't think I’ve ever had anyone apologize for saving my life before,” Vilkas says slowly, peering at her. Could she be this upset that she used magic in front of him? Vilkas discards the thought - no one would agonize this much over it. Maybe it's the comedown from the rush of battle, he guesses - she's probably never dealt with it before. “Are you okay?”

She breaks off, wiping her eyes as she looks up at him. “I’m fine,” she says.

“Then we’re all fine,” he says firmly. “And we’ll grab the Jarl’s coin and buy ourselves some mead at home. I think I’ve had all the excitement I can take for one day, don't you?”

She nods shakily, though she still looks upset. “I'll let you take first pick of the loot?” he offers.

“You’re really fine?” she asks suspiciously. “You aren't...angry?”

So it _was_ the magic she was upset about. Huh. "It wasn't a training exercise; it was real combat. Needs must," Vilkas says, shaking his head. “You are many things,” he adds, after a moment to collect his thoughts. “But you are far from cruel. I don't trust many mages, but I do trust you.”

“Oh," she says. "...Okay." She takes a deep, shaky sigh, and releases him, wrapping her arms around herself. “Let’s clean up quickly. I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to.”

“Milady,” Vilkas says, with an exaggerated drawl and a sweeping bow, hoping to make her laugh. She gives a wet chuckle, at least, and that's a start.

They clean up quickly and quietly. Miri yelps when she springs a trap set above a chest, and Vilkas looks up in alarm, but she yells “No harm done!” Then he hears “Oh, an amethyst, pretty,” and he smiles to himself, hefting the chief’s helm in his hand and inspecting it, wondering whether or not it’s something worth keeping.

They end up with a pretty decent haul between them, Miri pocketing the amethyst she’d found and leaving the heavy armor she has no taste for with Vilkas. “I can make it better for you, though,” she says, as they’re walking home. “Eorlund has been teaching me how to smith.”

_Every Companion knows basic smithing,_ he thinks, and then looks at her face, so hopeful. “That would be nice,” he says instead. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, obviously cheered. “If you leave it in the chest by my bed when we get home, I’ll get right on it.”

“Sounds good.”

They lapse into silence for a bit. Vilkas can't help but notice that Miri’s sticking close; whether that's because of the scare today or because she’s using him as a windbreak, he can't say. He can at least tell that she's unsettled, looking back at him every once in awhile as her heart rate picks up, and then quickly focusing back on the path.

After the third or fourth round of this, Vilkas clears his throat. “Need something?” he asks.

“Oh,” Miri says, startled, stumbles a little. “No, um, I guess I was just going to say that...it means a lot. That you trust me. And I wanted to tell you that I do, too. I trust you.”

Miri’s face is beet-red, and her heart is racing. It should be a simple thing, two Companions able to trust one another, but the way she says it makes him think otherwise.

“Oh,” he says dumbfounded. It’s her gesture, why is he suddenly nervous? “I. Well. That's - great.” Her face falls, and he hastens to add “Really. I’m definitely going to let Kodlak know that I’m voting in your favor, to bring you in as a full member. I’m sure the others will do the same.”

That was apparently at least partially the right thing to say, as she gives him a little smile and settles back into stride, still just a step ahead and to his right. “Thank you,” she says. “You’ll still train me? Tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Vilkas says. “But I think first thing after breakfast might be best.”

“I promise I won't run off and slay anything this time,” she teases. “And, by the way...I appreciate you letting me use you as a windbreak. Skyrim is so _cold_ after dark.”

He laughs. _Knew it._ “Any time. It'd be a serious blow to the Companions' pride if I let the rookie freeze to death under my watch.”

“So it would,” she agrees, sighing. “It's nights like these I really wish Jorrvaskr had more a little more fur to sleep under.”

Vilkas swallows hard at the image her words call up. His wolf-spirit practically slams against his chest, begging to be let out. 

_Down, boy,_ he thinks, and rolls his eyes heavenward. Sometimes being half-wolf is a damned nuisance.

Still, apparently his wolf likes her, and he can't afford to lose his control around her. Maybe he'll see if he can't get Hulda to recommend a lady for the evening after he sees Miri back to Jorrvaskr.


	6. Training

Early the next morning, there’s a soft knock at his door. “Vilkas,” Miri whispers. “Are you awake?”

Vilkas cracks a bleary eye open. It's rare that he's actually able to sleep - he supposes a fight and a fuck must have taken it out of him, and his wolf is humming contentedly. He can still smell the mingled scent of goatskin and the acrid tang of contraceptive potion, and of course, the naked woman on his chest.

There’s a shift and a huff from outside his door. Vilkas sighs inwardly and extricates himself, grabbing his smallclothes to cover himself before he sticks his head out the door. “Yes?”

Miri’s cheerful, face a freshly-scrubbed pink, hair plaited back and out of her way. She’s holding her helmet on her hip, but she's armored the rest of the way. “Ready when you are,” she whispers. “For training, I mean.”

Vilkas looks at her. Looks back at the girl who's asleep in his bed, still naked. Looks back at Miri, armor clinking softly as she fidgets.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and yawning. “Let me get my armor.”

…

“It's all in the swing,” Vilkas insists. “Have to get enough muscle behind it when you sweep. And you’re not going to be able to do that if you’re choked up on it like that.”

Miri’s drenched in sweat, curls escaping her plaited braid to lie matted against her forehead. “You said that the last four times,” she huffs. “I was doing fine with the wooden staff. But the weight is heavier at the front with a real blade; if I choke up on it less I lose control of it.”

“Hold your stomach tighter, then,” Vilkas says. “Firm up your stance before you swing.” He leans into her to correct her hand placement. “Like this,” he says, guiding her through the movement. “You can do it. Again.”

Miri faces the dummy, eyes flashing. With a grunt of effort, she drives it down in one swift vertical stroke, generating enough power to snap through the bindings holding the straw together. “Oh,” she says. “ _That_ felt good.”

“Congratulations,” Vilkas tells her, and he sincerely means it. She _has_ done tremendously, with very little coaching. Then he sweeps his arm across, showing her the set of dummies he’s set up across the porch. “You show me five more of those, and we can go back to working on your blocking.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren't you,” she accuses, huffing. “Are we sure I can't just light them all on fire?”

“This was your idea,” Vilkas reminds her. He's trying to rein in his smugness, but it's not a strong effort. “We can stop any time.”

“No,” she sighs, “I need to be able to fight with any weapon I come across. I'll drill it again.”

“Next week we’ll have you running at the targets,” Vilkas informs her cheerfully. “And then we’ll try you out on the small animal population and see how it goes.”

“Ugh,” Miri groans, and squares her stance.

...

They train together for another two weeks. Once Miri really _gets_ the form, she gets more comfortable and confident with her attacks each day. Vilkas thinks that two-handed weaponry still won't ever be her first choice; even with her rapidly developing muscle tone, she's too small for any blow she strikes to be particularly effective. Her speed is her strong point, and battleaxes and other polearms have a long, slow swing.

She's especially likely not to switch when, with the raw force of her magic, a two-handed weapon leaves her unable to cast.

The magic, Vilkas grudgingly admits, he's getting used to. His own body's healing abilities are strong enough that he doesn't come home from missions bearing more than a few scratches here or there, but when Ria comes home bruised and bloodied after she gets ambushed by a pack of wolves on the road (how ironic), Miri is able to immediately tend to her, spelling the worst of her injuries away. Even the battle-magic, as he told her, he trusts her with - and once he's satisfied that he's trained her to the point where all she needs is time and a bit of solo practice, he sends her to Athis, so her force and accuracy with a flame can be matched by the rapid strikes of her shortsword.

He and Farkas come home from a rush assignment from Balgruuf, a group of thugs that's returned to cause trouble in the marketplace - one hearty morning brawl sorts them out, and after returning the goods they'd threatened out of the shopkeepers, the two of them walk together back up the steps to Jorrvaskr, and with a quick nod to each other, they head around the back to see if there are any leftovers from breakfast.

They do find a few extra pies, but they also find Athis and Miri sparring, steel on steel ringing into the mid-morning sun. Before he realizes it, Vilkas has stopped eating to simply watch them, a faint smile of pride tugging the corner of his mouth up as Miri forces a rare yield out of the dark elf.

"You love her."

Farkas's voice startles him. Vilkas turns, ready to bark at him, but there isn't an ounce of judgment or smugness in his voice. Farkas is simply telling what he sees to be the truth. 

Or at least, thinks he is. "I'm not in love with her," Vilkas says quickly. "Looking out for a student. That's all."

Farkas fixes him with a long, meaningful look. When Vilkas turns away, his brother sighs, the chair groaning as Farkas tips himself backwards. "Then you're a liar, or a fool," he murmurs. "And I've never known you to lie to me, brother."

"I don't," Vilkas says shortly. "And I do care for her, yes. As a _friend_." 

"You look to her all the time," Farkas adds. When Vilkas bristles, he hums, shakes his head. "No, don't lose your temper. Just think about it."

"There's nothing to think about," Vilkas says firmly, more quietly as he looks up to where Miri is still cackling with glee, Athis holding his sides laughing at her childish victory dance. "I do trust her. I don't love her."

"Okay," Farkas says easily, holding up his hands. It should be an admission of defeat, but in his tone it sounds like something else. Vilkas huffs. Damn his brother, seeing things that aren't there.

...

After they've finished their meal, Skjor calls the inner circle of the Companions together for a meeting. 

"Kodlak and I have spoken on this at length," he says, "but we'd like your opinions before we make our decision final."

The room stays silent, but Vilkas can sense the increase of interest in the room, the weight of impending decisions upon them. "Now, don't look so grim," Kodlak says fondly. "We're holding afternoon discussion as a courtesy, but I think you'll agree with us."

Kodlak steeples his fingers. "We've decided," he says, "that we'd like to bring Miri in as a full member of the Companions."

"Not of the inner circle, mind you," Skjor says. "Although that could be discussed, in time. But we've felt that she's shown the dedication to training, the maturity, and made significant enough improvements in all aspects of her fighting that we feel it's time to give her a test of induction."

"Agree," Aela says immediately. "She's got a sharp eye and a good head on her shoulders."

"Agree," Farkas echoes. "She's a hard worker. I like her."

Vilkas opens his mouth to have his say, and then stutters, flushes. Damned Farkas; he's made Vilkas unsure of his own words over nothing. "Agree," he says at last. "I think," he adds slowly, "that we've all seen her improve. But she's also kept an eye towards the Companions' needs while she's been here, even when the Jarl has been putting her to work or when she's been fitting extra training in. She finishes every task we give her."

"Then we are all in agreement," Kodlak intones. "Should she pass her induction, Miri will be the newest pup to join our ranks."

"May I ask what the task is?"

Vilkas surprised himself by asking the question, and it seems that he surprised Kodlak too. The man's snow-white eyebrows climb his face momentarily before his expression smoothes into a warm smile. "I'm pleased that you've taken an interest, Vilkas," he says. "We've decided that she'll be venturing into Dustman's Cairn."

"A fragment of Wuuthrad," Farkas breathes. "You really think it'll be in there?"

"Along with a death wish," Aela growls. " _Kodlak_ \- "

"-Has made an appropriate choice, to suit her level of skill," Skjor cuts in. "You know as well as I that there will be plenty she faces that will challenge her more than this."

"I don't like it," Vilkas agrees, sharing a glance with Aela. "She's a terrific archer, which does her next to no good in an enclosed cavern, and her magic is strong, but as far as we know it's raw, untrained. She's gotten better with weaponry, but there's a difference between sparring and relying on it to save her life."

"We've had enough recruit death," Aela adds. "You and Kodlak may think she's ready, but I would prefer to be sure."

"It's a test, not a walk in the park," Skjor says. "And I'm surprised. You two have trained her. I would think you'd have given her more credit."

"Perhaps," Kodlak cuts in with a smile, "there is something to consider in what the young ones say, Skjor. She must be challenged, certainly." He pauses, face going grave. "However...we must consider that, should the legends be true - she is the only one capable of swallowing a dragon's soul...and thus, she is incremental in the effort in finding the reason behind the dragons' return. We cannot afford to bargain with such a valuable life."

"And," Farkas adds, gentle and solemn, "I agree with Aela. We've seen enough death in the young ranks. Her skills will continue to grow, even after she passes."

"Hrm." Skjor puts a hand to his jaw, scratching absently as he frowns. "I can't say I support lowering the bar of the test. However..." He looks up. "Perhaps we could send her in with a partner. Someone to mostly stand by and watch her back, in case what lies within the Cairn is more than we anticipated, and could see her safe return should she fail on this attempt."

"I'll go," Farkas offers. The group turns to him, and he shrugs. "Been itching to get out, anyway. And I haven't gotten the chance to work with her much yet; a little armor work, but that's all. I'd like to see what she can do."

"I'd support it," Aela shrugs. "We go out on partnered or triad missions all the time, day-to-day. No reason we couldn't run testing with a mentor."

"I think Farkas is well-suited to the task," Kodlak says, smiling. "You have my support as well. Vilkas? What say you?"

Rationally, Vilkas is certainly in favor. He trusts Farkas to watch his own back; surely he would extend the same trust to him watching a pup.

And yet. There's a part of him itching to go himself. He's a bit quicker to react than Farkas; should something go wrong - 

No, he thinks, and shakes himself. To question their efficacy as a team, not to mention the positive votes of his shield-brothers and sisters, would be doing both of them a disservice. "Agree," he says firmly. Miri is more than capable of dealing with a couple of old, rattling bones, and with Farkas she'll be in good hands.

"Then it's decided," Skjor agrees. "She will be tested, Farkas her watchful eye. Should she return successful from this quest, she will be named a full member of the Companions, and granted all of the privileges that come with."

"Vilkas," Kodlak calls, as they begin to file out. The old wolf has a twinkle in his eye; the kind that, somehow, never bodes well for him. "Please call everyone in for lunch, and let Miri know that Skjor will be looking for her immediately after." He cocks his head, smiling. "As she has done the most training with you, if anyone - I think she would appreciate if you were the first to bring the news."

There's a snigger and a cough behind him. When he looks over his shoulder, Aela and Farkas are both standing there, looking innocent as lambs.

"Yes, Kodlak," Vilkas says, and tries not to grind his teeth too audibly. Gossip-mongers, the lot of them.


	7. Friendship and Worry

Vilkas finds Miri tucked down in the back or Jorrvaskr, in the pups' den. She's sitting cross-legged, spine straight against the stone wall as she turns the pages of a much-loved tome - looks like one of Aela's, perhaps, a glossy bow stitched into the front cover in golden thread.

She looks so relaxed, so at ease, that it actually takes Vilkas off-guard for a moment. He hadn't really stopped to think about it, but the amount of pressure she's been under, the workload she's been holding herself to, is crystal-clear looking at her now.

He sort of feels like an ass, standing there, waiting to drag her out of her peace, have his brother throw her into some dusty cavern to...do what? Test her? In an environment she won't be put in, to face down high-flying, enormous dragons? She's gotten so much better, and she knows as well as anyone that she's running on borrowed time.

She looks up suddenly, seemingly sensing his presence, and is startled into guiltily setting her book aside in a flurry of motion. "Vilkas?" she says. "Sorry, I was caught up in - were you looking for me?"

"I," he begins, "No. I mean - yes, I was," he says, stumbling over his tongue at her confused look. "It isn't urgent. Skjor is looking for you, when you get a chance. But it can wait."

"Ah," she says, still sounding a little wary. "That's it?"

"That's it," Vilkas agrees, more confidently. Then he looks at her again, and spur of the moment, he reconsiders. "Although..."

"Yes?" she asks. "What is it?"

Well. In for a septim, he supposes. "Maybe I could bring you down a plate, from lunch," he offers. When she blinks in surprise, he clarifies, "You look...comfortable. And I know I hate to put down a book in the middle."

She stares at him for another long moment, and then breaks into a shy smile. "So do I," she admits. "That would be lovely, thank you."

He gives a brusque nod, and as he's halfway out the door she calls, "Vilkas?"

He stops, turning. "Maybe you could bring a plate, and a book of your own?" she asks. With a little lopsided smile, she adds, "I'd enjoy the company, but I promise not to try to make polite conversation."

He laughs softly, warmed at the offer. "That's as well; I'm not doing much quality conversation myself today," he agrees. "I will, then."

"Good!" she says brightly, and, all pretense of social graces abandoned, buries herself right back into her book.

Vilkas smiles to himself, and walks down the hallway and upstairs to the mead hall.

...

Vilkas gets about as much ribbing as he expected from the group. He can hear Ria's whispered "wait, _is_ there something going on?" just before he closes the door to the basement behind him, confirming his suspicions that the Companions are all a little bunch of gossipy old hens, but Skjor gives him an approving nod and Kodlak agrees that some personal time would suit both of them well, so he feels good about the choice as he walks back towards where Miri is sitting, still engrossed.

He thrusts the plate at her, holding it out expectantly until she looks up and grins. "Thanks," she says, shifts the book to her left hand so she can eat with the other, appearing completely contented as Vilkas settles opposite her, book and plate of his own in hand.

It's a very pleasant afternoon, and, Vilkas can readily admit, sorely needed for both of them. He's glad to have had the time when Miri stretches, shutting the book and setting it aside. "Take your plate?" she offers, and he shakes his head, reaching for hers instead. "You have better things to do," he says. "Go on. Skjor's waiting."

It comes out sounding like censure, but it seems she's learned to read him; she chuckles a little and picks up her pack. "It's always something," she says, hefts it up and onto her back with a grunt of effort. "Do you have any idea what he needs me for?"

"Skjor will tell you; you don't need to hear it from me," he says. She rolls her eyes and turns to go, and a little seed of doubt creeps in.

Gods dammit.

"Miri," he calls, and she turns. "...May the gods watch over your back."

"They have so far," she replies, and smiles. "And don't look so grim! Whatever it is, I'll be back soon enough."

"Aye." He gives her a nod, and she's up and out the door. He listens to her jog up the steps, and shuts his eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath.

She and Farkas will be a formidable team. They'll be fine. Everyone will come home safe, and alive, and in one piece.

He nods to himself, and tries to shake the creeping feeling of dread slowly making its way up his spine.


	8. A Test Passed

Vilkas spends an anxious night wearing a hole into the floor of Jorrvaskr, pacing back and forth. He hadn't anticipated how much being without Farkas would affect him, and for whatever reason Miri crosses his mind just as much. It's her trial, he reasons, she's new - but logically both of them should be fine. He's simply worried for worry's sake.

It's Tilma who finds him, in the end. He hears her key slide in the lock of his bedroom door, and it startles him just enough to make him growl on instinct. She laughs; she never has been afraid of them, of any of them, as frail as she seems on the outside. "Oh, stop it, you," she chides, waving a hand at him. "I need to sweep up in here. If you're that worried about them, go watch for them at the gate."

It's good advice - he may even be able to smell them on the wind, he realizes - and he mutters a quick word of thanks as he bounds up the stairs and out the door.

The wind is unfavorable for catching scents, but he sees the pair coming a long ways off. They're both there, walking of their own volition, so it couldn't have been too bad. As they pick their way up the hill, a slow but steady path, Vilkas breathes a sigh of relief. With a quick nod to the slightly rattled guard who vacated his tower on short notice, Vilkas jogs back down the stairs and up to Jorrvaskr before they can catch him watching for them.

"They've returned?" Kodlak asks him as he enters the main hall, a twinkle in his eye. The sharp old bastard. Vilkas nods stiffly, a little embarrassed, but Kodlak smiles approvingly, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. "I'll gather us on the back patio," he says. "Do bring them along, won't you?"

"Aye, Kodlak," he agrees, and steps back out to the front.

As the two approach Jorrvaskr, Vilkas can suddenly tell that they're both a little worse for wear. Miri's favoring her left side a bit, and Farkas has a nasty gash down his right shoulder, which surprises Vilkas - normally they both heal quickly enough that any injuries sustained are gone by the time they arrive back. It's part of the reason their status outside the Circle is so highly regarded - they're thought of as 'perfect' fighters because they so rarely come home injured, when the truth isn't quite that simple.

"Glad to see you've both returned safely," he says, saving his questions for later. "Did you retrieve the fragment?"

"Aye," Farkas says grimly, as Miri produces it, handing it over without a word. "And company."

"Draugr?" Vilkas asks. 

Miri shakes her head, and Farkas levels him with his best 'I'll fill you in later' look. Worse than _draugr_?

"We can discuss the details later," Vilkas says. He smiles warmly at Miri - who doesn't meet his eye - and continues. "The important thing is that you're both home in one piece, and successful at that. Brother, are you prepared to vouch for her?"

"I am," Farkas agrees. That much, at least, he seems fairly confident about, and Miri gives him a nervous grin. So whatever went wrong wasn't between the two of them, at least.

"Then, Miri," he says. "It would be my pleasure to inform you that we are ready to induct you as a full member of the Companions."

He thinks she'll be pleased by the news, but she looks back at Farkas, unsure. "Does that mean I have to...?"

"No," he says, firm and gentle. "It's just a small reward for your hard work. You've earned a place among us, and that can mean whatever you want."

Seemingly relieved, she walks around to the back of Jorrvaskr. Vilkas walks with his brother at a more sedate pace, letting him rest - and getting some separation so the two of them can talk, albeit briefly. "What in Shor's name did you run into out there?" Vilkas asks.

"A death trap," Farkas snarls. It's a strong emotion from his mild-mannered brother - things must really have gone terribly if he's this upset. "They jammed one of the door lifters-"

" _Who_ jammed it?"

"The Silver Hand," Farkas says. "They had Miri trapped, and would've had me too, if I'd let them."

Which means the gash on his shoulder was a normal injury, but from a silver blade - slowing their healing. "Gods _damn_ them," Vilkas yells, and Farkas hurriedly hushes him. "Not so loud," he says. "I'll tell Kodlak immediately after the ceremony, but we don't want to ruin her moment."

" _Right_ after," Vilkas growls. Farkas gives him a short, sharp nod, and then they both walk out to perform the ceremony.

"Brothers and sisters of the Circle," Skjor intones, and Vilkas watches as Farkas vouches for Miri. Though she still looks unsure, as Skjor notes her list of accomplishments, she smiles proudly, and it grows wider as the traditional words are spoken. So she's shaken, but not deterred.

Good, Vilkas thinks, relieved, as he joins in the echo of 'It shall be so,' completing the ceremony. Good.

Aela bounds over to congratulate her, Miri holding up a firm hand and gesturing to her ribs as she gives Aela a lopsided grin, apparently fending off one of the huntress's bone-crushing hugs. As Farkas pulls Kodlak aside, Skjor follows, and though Vilkas refrains from eavesdropping, the two appear stone-faced as they take in Farkas's story.

At loose ends, Miri's full attention taken by Aela and the others deep in conversation, Vilkas decides to go inside and inform the pups that they officially have a new shield-sister. Farkas will likely recount exactly what happened when he finishes with Kodlak and Skjor, and his congratulations for Miri can wait until Tilma's banquet tonight.

...

With Miri having come home successful, the banquet hall is draped in celebratory banners, and everyone takes the opportunity to get out of their plate and mail and into some casual clothing.

It's always strange to see any of them out of their armor - the sight of Skjor in a tunic and leggings is enough to throw anyone off - but today the biggest surprise belongs to Ria and Miri, who walk out of the hall and take their seats next to each other in long, informal dresses. 

Ria looks beautiful and composed as always, confident and comfortable in her deep Imperial red, but he's seen her dressed up before, sometimes even for missions. It's Miri who knocks him off his feet. Her hair falls in loose, tumbling waves, and her dress is a rich blue that does wonders for her - and clings in all of the right places, Vilkas is embarrassed to note. By the gods.

A loud chorus of cheers and whooping starts up, and Vilkas joins them, hoping the smile he gives is warm enough. In all honesty, he's still trying to scoop his jaw up off the floor, but he gives it his best effort.

"No one told me we were expecting ladies of the Court," Torvar jokes, grinning widely. "If I'd known, I'da dressed nicer."

"Shut up, Torvar," Ria says cheerfully. "I'm just glad I could finally talk someone into dressing up with me." She grins at Miri. "She looks beautiful too, doesn't she?"

"Hey," Aela says. "You never asked me; I'd have worn something with you."

"I've seen you wear dresses," Ria retorts easily, as she begins to make herself a plate. "You scowl and look like you're a second away from ripping it off and fighting it."

"True," Aela concedes. "And we all know what Njada would say."

"Not for a million septims," Aela, Ria, and Njada all echo, and grin at each other. "I hate the stuff," Njada says. "Won't touch it with a ten-foot staff."

"So as you can tell, it's just you and me," Ria says, linking her arm through with Miri's, who laughs. "And I appreciate the company."

"It's a little odd," Miri admits, "but a good odd, I think. It feels like something I used to know how to do...but," she sighs, "I guess whoever I was before doesn't really matter, does it?"

"We like who you are now," Vilkas interrupts. When she turns to him, surprised, he shrugs. "Maybe you're different from how you were before. But you're already different from the person you were when you first came to Whiterun."

"That's true," Aela agrees. "You've met new people, seen new places. Gotten stronger."

"And we know one thing about you," Athis says. "Your past aside, you were always born to be the Dragonborn." He grins. "I know getting concussed never made _me_ able to swallow a dragon soul. More's the pity!"

"In my experience," Kodlak adds, "Destiny has a way of working out. You have a home with us, and no shortage of those who consider you family, including the ones sitting at this table with you."

"I...thank you," she says, voice cracking on the last syllable. Ria puts an arm around her, and Miri leans sideways into the hug, smiling faintly. "It means a lot to me that you all do."

The conversation moves to lighter topics, and Vilkas relaxes and lets himself soak it all in. Kodlak spoke true: the friendships of the Companions run deep, a foundation of trust borne from strength and honor. Their loyalty here is hard-won, but never wavers or falters thereafter. 

As hard as it's been to wrestle with his unruly wolf-spirit over the years, the wolf in Vilkas has one thing right - the value of a tightly-knit pack.


	9. Announcements and Revelations

Once all the shouting's over, life in Jorrvaskr resumes as normal. Interestingly, with Miri becoming a full member, she actually ends up taking on fewer missions, particularly the local ones - now that she doesn't need to earn her way in, she gets assigned to the mission schedule with the rest of them, rotating in when something needs to be done. 

Instead, she does more outreach with the people of Whiterun, from what Vilkas can tell. Once, he sees her talking to Danica at the temple, and then when he hears the noise in the courtyard and goes out to investigate, the Gildergreen has been revived, in its full, flowering beauty once again. "It was nothing," she says, when Vilkas asks her about it, but now and then he'll catch her smiling up at the tree, proud and satisfied.

With Miri doing so much of the outside solo work, the requests from townsfolk slowly start to dwindle. The members of the Circle are still doing Silver Hand scouting, Vilkas included, but without being a full member, Miri and the other pups end up having four full days without taking on a single mission.

When they gather for dinner that night, Miri clears her throat. "Everyone," she says, and they turn to watch her as she speaks.

"Well," she says, "I think most of you heard the Greybeards' summons of me." They all nod - their Shouts carry from the top of High Hrothgar, so their issued request for the Dragonborn to come had rung out far and wide. "And while things have been slow here, I got permission from Kodlak - "

"Not that you needed it," Kodlak reminds her. The rest of them exchange glances and fond eyerolls. While the position of Harbinger is one without formal powers, no one would lift a pinky without talking to Kodlak first.

"I got permission from Kodlak that I didn't need," she continues with a grin, "and I'll be taking some time off from my duties as a Companion to travel to High Hrothgar."

Torvar whistles. "The 7,000 steps," he says. "Better you than me, kid."

"And it'll be so cold! You poor thing," Ria says, and shivers in sympathy. "All the mail in the world can't keep that biting wind out."

"I'm hoping it'll be...invigorating?" Miri says with a wince but obvious good humor, and a ripple of laughter goes around the table.

"I'd tell you good luck, but I don't think you'll need it," Farkas says. "I'm pretty confident that you'll be able to face anything the mountain can throw at you."

"Let's hope so," she laughs.

"Oh, c'mon." Athis grins. "It's Miri. We all know she'll be lugging home the head of a frost troll yelling " _Can I sell this to someone_?"

"No, no," Skjor says. "Troll heads are completely worthless, as a Mage she knows that much. Troll _fat_ , on the other hand..." He lifts a finger, grinning. "Now that is a pricey alchemical ingredient."

"The only people who go out looking for frost trolls are alchemists," Njada agrees. "Or mercenaries who're being _paid_ by alchemists."

"And then there's me," Miri says, rolling her eyes. "Finding out what's been turning piles of dragon bones into real, actual, living dragons - and not only do I have to worry about climbing up a frozen mountain, but also, frost trolls might attack."

"And if you live through that," Aela says, "you'll be a Thane who's wealthy, well-studied, strong, and has seen the world."

"And beautiful to boot!" Ria adds. "The crown jewel of any Court."

"Hear hear," Vilkas says, raising his mug. As the rest of the group choruses "Hear hear!", Miri blinks at him in obvious surprise. Vilkas steadily holds her gaze, and her expression slowly smooths into a soft, warm smile.

...

Vilkas is assuming that's the rest of the human interaction he'll have for the night - he usually spends the rest in his own quarters meditating or out in his wolf form, giving himself a chance to run and blow off some steam - so the knock at his door as he's preparing to go out surprises him.

"Vilkas," Miri calls through the door. "Are you...you aren't asleep, right?"

Well. He pulled his shirt off, but his pants are still intact. He pulls open the door and she blinks at him for a minute before clearly trying to recollect her thoughts. "Um," she says. "...Hi."

"Hi," he says. _She must be tired._ "Need something?"

"Well, yes, actually," she hedges, shifting from foot to foot. "I." She looks around furtively, and then asks, "Um, not to invite myself in, but can I...?"

"Oh," he says, and steps out of her way. "Of course, come in."

She perches on a chair overlooking the bed. She's...nervous, he can scent that. What about escapes him, but he's sure she'll get to it, so he takes a seat opposite her on the edge of his bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she says quickly. "I just..." She trails off, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, and then appears to steady herself. "Okay," she says. "I'm...I'm going to ask you something, and I don't want you to say yes right away. Or because I'm the Dragonborn."

Vilkas peers at her. "You...want me to say no?"

" _No_ ," she says. "Or - well." She huffs, frustrated, and then blurts, "Kodlak suggested that I could bring a member of the Companions with me up to High Hrothgar, and I was hoping you would come."

Vilkas blinks slowly once. Twice. "Okay," he says.

"Because," she continues, "Our fighting styles are really opposite so they're complementary, and I know it'll be cold but you can, uh, do the werewolf thing - Farkas says you really don't get cold. And I thought it might be nice to have a little bit more protection, and some company, and--"

"Miri," Vilkas laughs. "I said okay."

"But _why_ ," she says. "I told you not to say yes! It's going to be awful."

"...Yes," Vilkas agrees slowly. "But if I can do a little bit to lift the burden from your shoulders, then I've done my job as a Companion," he finishes. When she looks unsure, he hastens to add, "And as your friend."

"You're sure," she says dubiously.

He arches an eyebrow. "Don't feel _obligated_ to ask me," he says.

"No! No," she says. "I..." She sighs, all of the tension draining out of her. "I really wanted you to come," she admits. "But I couldn't think of a reason for you to say yes. Your brother's here, and your friends. It's a...stupid, wild..."

Ah. "It's an adventure," Vilkas says, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "I'm honored to have been the one you asked."

Miri chuckles a little as he releases her hand, folds her own in her lap. "You know," she says, "when we first met, I thought you were...rude isn't quite the right word, too strong," she says, twining her fingers together. "Curt, maybe."

He isn't sure where she's going with this, but she looks up at him and smiles. "But these days it seems like you always know just what to say to make me feel better."

"Good," he says, cheeks heating. "I'm sorry if I..."

"No, no," she laughs, waving a hand. "We're both different people since then, you and I. Like you said at dinner tonight," she says. "It's really true, I think. ...So!"

She brushes off her lap and briskly stands, heading for the door. He stands with her, as it seems like the right thing to do, and she leans against the wooden frame, looking up at him. "Thank you," she says, sincere and quietly pleased. "I'll feel much better having you come along."

"I'll feel better coming," he admits. "I'm glad to help. And...I do worry. I know you could handle things by yourself, it isn't that -"

"I understand," she says. "I know I never like being the one left behind."

In a sudden, sharp moment of clarity, Vilkas realizes what they're doing, dancing around each other like this. They're having a _moment_ here, standing in his doorway, her in her light night shift and trousers and him half-naked. His wolf is as quiet as it ever is with her around - which is to say, not much - but he's able to recognize the instinct to want desperately to lean down and kiss her as one that's all his own, not something driven or pushed by his feral half.

"Um," Miri says, chewing on her bottom lip. "I think I'm gonna go to bed. Rest up, you know." She laughs shallowly, pats her bicep. "For the big day."

"Uh-huh," he hears himself say, and it's like he's suddenly half a world away, the echo of his own words coming back thin and faint.

_Say something, Vilkas, you idiot,_ he thinks.

"Let me know if you need any help packing," he says. "I can carry whatever we need."

Gods damn it, that was _not_ it. But she's already stutter-stepped out of arm's reach, giving him a little wave. "I will," she says. "Good night; I'll see you bright and early!"

"...Good night, Miri," he says, after she's already halfway down the hall, and shuts it behind himself. Then he sighs, letting his head thunk backwards against the thick oak.

_.........Shit._


	10. To Riverwood

Vilkas spends a long night trying to meditate and rest without success - he can't really afford to wear his wolf out when he may need to call on some reserves of strength depending on how fast they travel, so between trying to ignore both the urge to shred everything in his path and the stubborn thought that what happened with Miri at the door wasn't just a fluke, he doesn't catch much restful time. An hour or so before sunrise, he growls and gives up, sitting up and shoving some basic gear and potions into his pack and changing into his armor.

Once he's fully armored, he sits at his table, penning a letter for his brother.

_Farkas,_ he writes,

_Miri asked me to accompany her to High Hrothgar. We'll be leaving shortly. I expect that we'll mostly be keeping to the well-defined paths, so catch me by courier if you need. Best of luck with S.H. I know you'll be cautious._

He pauses, trying to think. He'll be insufferable if Vilkas tells him about what transpired yesterday evening...but he'll be worse if he hears it elsewhere first, and Aela has sharp ears. Rolling his eyes, he adds:

_Also, you may have been right._

There, he decides. Vague enough, should it fall into the wrong hands. He rolls the parchment up and heads to Farkas's room, sliding it under his door.

He hears quiet footfalls down the hall, and he turns to see Miri, appearing to be dressed and packed. "Oh, good," she says in a hushed whisper. "Are you nearly ready? I need to gather a few things from the kitchens, and then I will be."

"I am, and I need to as well," he agrees. "Do you already have a rough idea of how much we'll need?"

"Just enough for the trip there, I expect," she says, as Vilkas grabs his pack and they jog upstairs. "From what I understand, there's a small village at the foot of the mountain that's usually happy to feed visitors in exchange for a bit of coin. No sense taking more than we can carry."

Vilkas nods. "Are we heading south or east?"

"I hadn't decided," she says. "Do you have an opinion?"

He shrugs. "East is shorter," he says, "but I think we should go south first. It's a bit less direct, but it'll be safer. Do you have a map?" he asks, and she nods, tugs a well-worn piece of parchment out of her bag and spreads it across the table. 

"Here," Vilkas says, and taps her handwritten note on the map: _Whiterun_. He trails his finger down. "We can cross through Riverwood first, and then depending on how it looks, either go around Helgen or cut through it. There's a rumor going around the guards that a dragon attacked there, so I guess the place is pretty much abandoned."

He looks up to see a strange expression cross Miri's face. "Is...that okay?" he asks.

"Fine," she says shortly. "That's fine, it makes sense. Go on."

She seems unhappy still, but she doesn't seem inclined to share, so Vilkas gives her one last long look and then moves on. "Then we follow the main roads east and work our way closer up to the mountain." He taps a spot on the map at the base of the mountain. "Ivarstead is around here, roughly. I think that's the village you were talking about. That's generally where the Greybeards get their supplies from, from what I'm told."

"That makes sense," she says, nodding. "I think by the time we get there it'll be fairly late...and I don't relish the thought of trying to pick our way up the mountain in the dark. So I think we should plan to stay the night in the town, and then make our way up at sunrise."

Vilkas gives a half-shrug and nod. He could probably do it if he were shifted, but Miri doesn't have the luxury of his energy reserves nor his decent night vision. "Okay," he says. "Are we ready?"

"I'm as ready as I'm going to be," she says, smiling as she rolls up the map and tucks it back in her pack. "How about you?"

"I'm ready," he says. Now that they have a plan, he finds himself looking forward to the journey. No Silver Hand, no missions of his own...just the wide-open sky and a clear path ahead. "Let's get going."

...

The first part of their trip goes smoothly. They're in Riverwood by mid-morning, and Miri's spirits seem to get brighter the closer she gets to the small town.

A dark-haired woman is sprinkling feed out of an apron pocket, scattering it across the ground as chickens peck around her. Miri sucks in a loud, excited breath, and then to Vilkas's surprise, darts off of the path and over towards her. "Camilla!" she shouts, and the woman looks up before breaking into a big smile. "Miri!" she calls, and the two embrace warmly as Vilkas catches up at a more sedately pace. "Oh my goodness, look at you," she says, stroking hands down Miri's hair before cupping her cheeks. "A real lady knight! You look so..." She breaks off, shaking her head and laughing. "So brave and strong!" she finishes.

"And you look beautiful and happy, as usual!" she says, grinning. "I've been so excited to see you; I'm glad we ended up deciding to pass through this way."

"We heard the Greybeards shout for you!" Camilla says, smiling. "Sven was hoping you'd be coming back through town to cross over, but Faendal was positive you'd be taking the shorter route to the east. I wish we'd known you were coming, we would've held breakfast for you!"

"Oh, no," Miri says, and looks back at Vilkas with a little smile. "We ate a bit on our way...and, I'm so sorry, I've completely forgotten to introduce you two!" she says. "Vilkas, this is Camilla. She helped me a lot when I was in a bad way," she finishes. "Camilla, Vilkas. He's one of the members of the Companions. I've been staying in Whiterun and training with them."

"The Companions!" Camilla says, giving Vilkas a little smile and nod. "No wonder you look so fit, Miri!" She gives him a quizzical look. "So, Vilkas, you're accompanying Miri up the mountain? Or are you on a separate errand?"

"No, I'm traveling with her," he says, and he and Miri exchange a quick smile of their own. 

"Well," Camilla says, and claps her hands. "That's wonderful. Are you able to stay for a bit? I would love to do some catching up with you, and I'm sure the boys would love to see you too."

"I wish I could, but we really weren't planning to stay," Miri says apologetically. "We're already taking the long way around, so we're trying to cut through as quickly as possible."

"Of course, of course. No, don't apologize, I hate when you make that face!" Camilla laughs, and kisses Miri on the cheek. "We know you're a busy woman. But the three of us certainly owe you a nice dinner and a warm hearth, so please feel free to stay if it makes sense when you're coming back! We would love to see you."

"We will!" Miri agrees, and gives her a big hug. "And you'll need to catch me up on the village goings-on!"

"Oh, my goodness," Camilla laughs. "I didn't even write and tell you that Sven and Faendal and I all worked everything out, did I?"

"You haven't," Miri agrees with a grin, "but we'll probably be passing back through within the next few days. So you can tell me then, or I'll write to you from Whiterun if we don't catch you."

"Great." Camilla holds her shoulders steady and gives her one last evaluative glance, and smiles, lets her go. "Good luck, sweetheart; I'll tell everyone you stopped in to say hello," she says. Turning to Vilkas, she adds, "I'm sorry we kept you waiting! I'm sure you're as eager to get on the road as she is. Best of luck to you as well, it was lovely to meet you!"

"Any friend of Miri's is a friend of mine," Vilkas says. Miri looks up at him and gives him an absolutely dazzling grin, and he can feel his cheeks heat. He coughs and nods shortly, and with a questioning look at Miri, starts to walk back down the hill. With a last wave to Camilla, she catches up quickly, falling back into step with him.

"Camilla Valerius," she says, by way of explanation. "She and her brother run the local inn and general store. When I first came through, I had...hi, Uncle Alvor!" she breaks off to say, giving a man who appears to be a blacksmith a quick wave. 

"Miri, is that you?" he booms, waving back at her. "Looking strong! Stay safe!"

"I will!" She calls, though she doesn't pause. "Say hello to the family for me!"

He gives her a nod and goes back to hammering out what appears to be a piece of steel. "Sorry," she laughs. "That's Alvor, he and his wife and daughter run the local forge. He taught me how to make my first weapons and armor...and bought them off of me so I had some money to spend on food," she says, as they pass through the town's front gate. "And...where was I?"

"Camilla," Vilkas reminds her gently, with a friendly nod to the guards as they pass.

"Camilla! Right. Anyway, she didn't really trust me at first, but I ran an errand for her and her brother and they both warmed up pretty fast. And then I helped her resolve a little...well, love triangle, really," she says, laughing. "She had the local bard and a Bosmer archer both fawning all over her. I mean, she's who she is, you know? She has that kind of beauty that attracts a lot of attention."

"Does she?" Vilkas frowns. "I didn't think she was all that remarkable."

Miri gapes at him. "Are you kidding me? Camilla's gorgeous. Long brown hair, that Imperial nose..."

He thinks about it again. "I suppose," he shrugs.

"Wow." She seems to be genuinely at a loss for words as they continue down the path. After a while, she says, "So...she just isn't your type? Or..."

"Apparently not," he says. Camilla was pretty enough - maybe in his younger years a girl he and Farkas would've fought over, he'll allow. But there was something about her that just isn't holding his interest.

Maybe, he thinks, partially due to the girl at his side who's distracted him so thoroughly. But he can't very well say that, can he?

"Huh," Miri says. They walk in silence for another stretch, and then she pipes up again. "So...what kind of girls _do_ you like?"

He looks over at her, raising an eyebrow, silently asking _Are we really going to talk about this?_

"Okay, okay!" she relents, laughing. "You don't _have_ to tell me. I was just asking."

"I...don't know that I have a particular type," he says, after a moment to think. "I like smart women. Brave women. Someone who isn't afraid to take charge." He shrugs. "It's nice if she's pretty too, I'm not saying that isn't a part of it. But, especially since I'm a werewolf..."

"Someone...who can stand up to you?" Miri asks. "If you need them to."

He gives a nod, relieved that she understands. "I don't lose control as much as I used to, when I was younger. New to it. Now it's only a great once in a while. But I want..." He chuckles. "Well, a girl who won't run away if I trust her enough to share my secret, first off."

Miri laughs. "You should've seen me when Farkas 'surprised' me," she says. "Could have knocked me over with a feather. I was a little afraid at first, I'll admit it."

"But you didn't bolt," Vilkas points out.

"It wasn't the sort of situation I could bolt _from_. Enemies I don't know hiding all around us. Halfway into the cave as much as out. To run in either direction would've been a death wish." Miri laughs, kicking a loose stone out of her path. "But I don't think I was ever really frightened, either. It wasn't like...watching a wild animal attack, or something. He came over and got me out, made sure I was alright. His eyes were human the whole time."

"You weren't upset?" he asks. "I feel like most people would have a bigger reaction."

"Oh, I did, later," she agrees. "I was furious. I think I felt betrayed, more than anything else. That I wouldn't be trustworthy enough to share it with me earlier. That it doesn't get shared with anyone before they know what they're signing up for."

"We do have our reasons," Vilkas says, a little stiffly. "If -"

"No, no, I know," she says. "If the townsfolk got wind of it you'd have a riot on your hands. The guards are already spooked enough at the occasional howling as it is."

Vilkas laughs, mimicking the stronger Nord accent. "Hail, Companion. Sometimes, at night, I hear... _howling_!"

Miri grins. "Just like that!" she agrees. "It was...a long walk back. Part of me wanted to shove the fragment at Farkas and forget I'd ever wasted my time. I thought being a werewolf was a requirement to be a member. But then I asked Farkas, and he told me it wasn't. It really was just a basic induction."

"In the first days of the guild, I think everyone might have been," Vilkas says. "I think that's why the Grey-Mane family was tied so closely with us. The strongest of their children would join, and take the blood oath. And I'm not confident, but doing some basic digging for Kodlak, I think that's how their clan really got its name. It sounds like it was more of an open secret, back then."

"I see." Miri adjusts her pack on her shoulders, shifting its weight. "What made the change?"

"Practicality, likely," Vilkas says. "I think it'd be hard for a Jarl to feel confident running a strong hold or support the Companions with the constant threat of werewolves. And there are lots of regular people who can be strong, but might not be strong enough to withstand the ritual."

Miri nods. "I've been thinking about it kind of a lot, actually," she admits. "What I would decide, if I were invited to join. If I would say yes or no."

"Well, I don't think it's a decision you have to worry about," Vilkas says. "These days, Kodlak is against any new pups doing the ritual."

"Really?" Miri blinks. "Why? Isn't he himself -"

"Yes, and that's part of the issue for him, I think," Vilkas says. "He's getting older, it isn't a secret. He's still strong but even as a werewolf, that strength won't last him forever. He's performed a lot of great deeds as a warrior, and I think his goals have changed from when he was our age."

She looks at Vilkas, waiting for him to continue, so he does. "Kodlak decided a few years ago that he didn't want to run with Hircine," he says. "That's the big secret, really; that when we perform the ritual we dedicate our afterlives to a daedric prince, to running with the eternal hunt. But Kodlak..."

"He doesn't want to do that?" Miri asks.

"No," Vilkas agrees. "He's tired, I think. He'd like to be welcomed into Shor's Hall with the other warriors, sit and listen to great battle stories. Drink ever-flowing mead. The simpler afterlife."

"Okay," Miri says. "So...can he. I don't know, give it back? _Do_ you give a thing like that back?"

Vilkas shakes his head. "I've been trying to help him, where I can," he says. "Farkas isn't one for a lot of reading, he has a lot of trouble with it. And Aela and Skjor don't really understand how he feels. Skjor craves the power of his other form, and Aela's a born huntress. They have no regrets about swearing their oath."

"Help him do what?" Miri asks. "Figure out how to get rid of it?"

"Yes. But apparently it isn't so easy," Vilkas says. "Kodlak is pretty sure, after the initial research we've done, that 'being imbued with the wolf spirit' was actually intended to be a curse. And that's why it's been kept to the Companions for all these years, so the strongest have to prove that they're both physically and mentally strong enough to be able to maintain the form without hurting civilians."

"That makes sense." She frowns, thinking. "Then...why does the Silver Hand bother hunting you guys down? If there's that small a number of you, and you guys are protecting a hold..."

"We aren't the only werewolves out there," Vilkas says. "Followers of Hircine who take on beast forms crop up all the time. Some go rogue, and that's where the Silver Hand comes in." He frowns. "But they don't see the difference between using controlled transformations to help people, and being out of control, dangerous. Liable to attack."

Miri's frown deepens. "That's not fair, for one," she says. "To paint everyone with a broad brush like that. After all you do for the community..."

"Well, you see it that way now," he says. "But you've worked with us; become friends with us. I think they feel much the same way as you did initially - that if we're truly helping the community, our power and rituals shouldn't be kept a secret."

"But you don't think that's really true," she says.

"Well..." He shrugs. "I can almost see where they're coming from. The fact that I didn't injure anyone during my first transformation was because I had a pack of more experienced werewolves to guide me out of the town and away from civilians. But if they hadn't been there, I might've been dangerous."

"Okay." She frowns. "I still...they left a bad taste in my mouth. I think they really would've killed me, just for being 'associated' with Farkas. And I don't think they were going to give me any time to tell them I didn't know."

He nods. "It's their tactics," he says. "Their numbers are smallish, so they like to lead raids when we're alone. Isolated or otherwise helpless. Incapacitated, if they can find us that way." He spits.

"They have no honor," Miri says quietly.

Vilkas nods. "That's the thing that makes me want to continue to wipe them out, more than anything. I know, maybe more than anyone else, that rogue wolves need to be put down...but not the way they do it."

Miri hums her agreement as they round the bend. "Oh, Vilkas," she says. "The Guardian stones. Do you want to take a quick detour?"

Her eyes lit up when she mentioned them - Vilkas thinks _she_ wants to. So he nods. "Sure," he agrees. "Lead the way."

She jogs along the path, and he trots after her until the stones come into view. She must have been here before joining the Companions as well, Vilkas realizes, as he watches her make a beeline for the Mage stone. And it would've had to have been after her accident, or she wouldn't have any memory of the place.

Putting the thought aside for the moment, Vilkas settles his hands on either side of the Warrior stone, smiling with satisfaction as the beacon lights up for him, the humming undercurrents of power running through him. With a quick prayer of thanks, he steps back, waiting for Miri to finish her own.

"Well," he says when she finishes, "Let's get going, then."

She gives him a determined nod. "Let's go."


	11. Memories in Ash

As they begin to approach Helgen, scorch marks and charred earth begin to appear along the path. Beside him, Miri is coiled tight with tension - Vilkas doesn't need his wolf to be able to sense the waves of unhappiness and fear rolling off of her.

Finally, he stops walking, and she comes to an abrupt halt just behind him. "Vilkas?" she asks quietly.

"Miri..." He has a lot of questions, but none of them feel polite to ask.

On the other hand. If she's sensing something bad ahead - even if it's just bad memories - better to know. "You've been here before," he guesses.

She nods grimly. "This is where I first woke up," she says. "With no memory, and no money. And on my way to the executioner's block."

"What?" Vilkas turns to look at her, but she's facing away from him, arms wrapped around herself protectively. "What in Oblivion _for_?"

"It was an accident, I think," she says. "I was in the wagon with a bunch of Stormcloak prisoners. Helgen was being used as an Imperial fort. I guess they picked me up with the Stormcloaks while I was crossing the border, but I don't remember any of that at all. And I wasn't on their list of prisoners to be transported." She laughs humorlessly. "Just a mistake. And they weren't sure what to do with me. So they kept me in handcuffs and led me over to the headsman's block, like everyone else."

Vilkas stares at her. "I didn't know," he says, finally.

"Nearly everybody who knew is dead," she says flatly. "Burned alive by the dragon. One of the Imperial soldiers took my shackles off of me and we escaped...Alvor is actually his uncle, not mine. And we met a group of Stormcloaks on the way out. I think some of them survived. I know Ralof, another man from Riverwood, made it out. His sister Gerdur runs the Riverwood mill and she's heard from him since." 

She looks back at Vilkas, and for the first time he's ever seen, she looks...helpless. Grief-stricken. "You could hear them burning. Sometimes I fall asleep and I'm back there, watching it from a nightmare." She squeezes her eyes shut. "The worst," she admits, "are the ones where I'm the dragon."

"I'm sorry," Vilkas murmurs. "I know what that's like."

She runs her hands over her face. "I expect you do, don't you? It isn't as if I'm the only one with night terrors, these days."

"We don't have to go in there," he offers. "We're already taking a detour, we can just...take a little bit more of one. Bypass the entrance."

"It's okay," she sighs, and visibly collects herself. "All that's left should be ash and stone. If Helgen's the worst thing we face on the trip...I'll consider us lucky."

"If you're sure," he says. "If you want, you lead. I'll follow."

She nods, apparently steeling herself, and walks forward.

As they approach, she suddenly drops into a crouch. "Shh," she says. "I think I hear something. Over the rise."

Vilkas sniffs the air. He can't tell, but Helgen is downwind a bit from where they are, so it won't carry much scent or sound. He nods, and they silently pad forward, inching their way along the path.

"Bandits," she hisses. Sure enough, there are at least two men guarding what's left of the town's front gate, and from the increasing noise, more inside.

"I don't think they're going to let us through," he says. "What do you want to do?"

"I hate to spill more blood on this land," she says, shaking her head. "But I think we need to engage them now. We don't know how many strong they are surrounding, and we have the advantage of stealth here, at least until we get inside."

"Okay," Vilkas murmurs, drawing his steel. "Switch and cover me. The ones you can pick off with arrows now, do that. I'll bring anyone else in at close range."

"Mm." She puts two arrows in the gate guards, and when more men come pouring out at the noise, Vilkas gives a shout and charges, tearing anyone in his path to pieces.

More men and women are drawn out at the clang of steel on steel. He can feel Miri pressed against his back, keeps half an eye on her as they fight to make sure no one strays too close. 

He loses track of time in the fighting, but by the time the chieftain falls, the ragtag remnants of the group scattering to the winds, the sun is high overhead, blazing down on them as they catch their breath. They exchange a silent look, and sticking closely together still, they pick their way around the dead bodies, making their way around the wreckage of the town to the back gate.

...

They walk for nearly another hour, and Miri's still silent as the grave beside him. He looks over at her occasionally, and she seems...off, still. Shaken, maybe.

He supposes it'll have to fall to him to make conversation, after that. "Hey," he says, nudging her gently. "Stop for lunch soon?"

"That sounds good," she agrees. "I think we're about a third of the way there? We should be in Ivarstead by nightfall."

"Good." He points to a spot off the path, raising an eyebrow, and she nods mutely, folding her legs under herself to sit as she draws her meal out of her pack.

"So," Vilkas says, as he tears off a piece of jerky. "What do you think the Greybeards actually want from you?"

Vilkas isn't sure she'll go for the obvious distraction tactic; let it never be said that he's a master of subtlety - but Miri seems as happy as anyone with the topic change. "I have no idea." She shrugs. "Jarl Balgruuf said they're peaceful hermits, shut themselves off from the world to study dragon shouts. They're the only people in the world - besides me, and Ulfric Stormcloak, of course - who can master them."

"Do you think they'll teach you some?" Vilkas asks. "You only know a few, right?"

"Two," she agrees. "One for force, and one for fire breath. Which..." She grins, tilting her head to the side. "It could just be me, but neither of those seem like words to meditate on. So I expect they'll have more to teach me, but I don't know if that's what they're calling me for."

"They seem like they should have...archives, or information about dragons," Vilkas says. "Maybe we'll find what we need to know there on why they're being brought back to life."

"That's what I'm hoping, too," Miri agrees. "Even if they have a lead for me, it's better than nothing. Right now I don't even have a place to start."

"I'm sure they'll have something. It doesn't make sense to shout you up there for nothing." Vilkas takes a long drink from his canteen and hums contentedly, caps it back up. "Are you ready to get back on the road?"

She nods. "Let's get going. Hopefully we'll make it there at a reasonable hour."

"We should." Vilkas extends a hand, and pulls her to her feet. "We still have plenty of daylight left."

"Thanks," she says. "Thank you for...all of this, really. For coming with me. Having my back."

"You don't have to thank me," he says, and, on impulse, reaches out and ruffles her hair, grinning when she jumps in surprise. "You're pack. That's as good a reason as any."

"Pack..." She thinks about it for a minute, and then grins up at him. "I like the sound of that."

"Good." He starts walking again, setting a brisker pace. Maybe if he walks quickly enough, she won't notice his cheeks are pink.


	12. Ivarstead

They arrive in Ivarstead as the countryside is bathed in sunset. After a kind word from one of the locals (and, of course, Miri agreeing to bring the Greybeards' supplies with them on their trek up), they head to the inn.

"The Vilemyr," Miri says, squinting at the sign. "Well. That's a...friendly name."

Vilkas snorts. "They're the only game in town," he says. "I expect they do fine."

The inn is warm and cheerful, a fire blazing in the hearth and the bar-maid singing to a few patrons. They walk up to the bar and are greeted by an older man, slender and cheerful. "Welcome to the Vilemyr," he says. "Name's Wilhelm. What can I get for you?"

"Dinner and a room for a night, for both of us," Vilkas says.

"Excellent. Twenty-five septims," Wilhelm says. "Are you pilgrims, then? Or just passing through?"

"Pilgrims, of a sort," Miri says cheerfully, before Vilkas can respond. "We'll be taking Klimmek's supplies for them up with us in the morning."

"Good for you," Wilhelm says approvingly. "I hope the lad's giving you some coin to do that?"

"He is," Miri agrees, grinning at Wilhelm's stern look. "I told him we were going anyway and we'd be happy to do it, but he insisted. Not to worry!"

"Good," Wilhelm agrees. "Myself, I've lived here in Ivarstead all my life, inherited the inn from my father. I've never had any desire to make the trip myself, but I like when others come through and tell me about it."

He walks into the back and comes out with two plates of bread and cheese and two mugs of mead. "Doing the Divines' work," Vilkas says, and Wilhelm gives him a grin and a nod. "So I hear," he says. "Meat'll be done in a minute."

"You've really never wanted to go?" Miri asks Wilhelm. "I hear it's beautiful at the top."

"Oh, aye," Wilhelm agrees. "And on the way up the air is thin, and it's cold and occasionally dangerous. No, I'm a 'keep your feet on the ground' sort of man myself." He grins, turning the meat over the fire. "We're remote enough here that we get all sorts of beautiful views right outside. Never felt I had to climb a mountain for that."

"You are a ways off the main roads," Vilkas agrees.

"Halfway between Whiterun and Riften, a little closer to the latter," Wilhelm says. "So technically we belong to their hold, but the guards are our own. The city feels like we're too remote to send rotations through." He shrugs. "Just as well, if you ask me. I like our own hometown boys and girls; don't trust those Riften types. Nobody's takin' bribes when Auntie's standing right across the way."

Wilhelm gives a cheerful laugh, thunking two racks of ribs onto their empty plates. Vilkas and Miri exchange a grin as they tuck in. "Ale-basted bear," Wilhelm says. "Best eatin' you'll find in the countryside, or so I like to say. A good hot meal before a long, cold trek. Does the spirit good."

"It smells wonderful," Miri sighs, and Vilkas nods, already halfway into a rib. Bandit-slaying always makes him hungry.

Wilhelm grins. "Glad to hear it. Now then," he says, and shuffles around behind the bar until he comes up with a room key, putting it between them. "You two are the back room right here. I expect we won't be getting any more visitors this time of night, so I'm going to bed. I'll be across the hall if you need anything, so don't be shy, just knock. And you can leave your plates, we'll get them in the morning."

"Thank you," they echo, and Wilhelm nods and waves, and then closes his door.

They sit and finish their meal in silence, but it's a companionable one, rather than the strained silence from earlier. Vilkas is glad that Miri seems to be okay. Knowing what he knows now, he probably would've chosen to take the quicker route and avoid the ghosts of her all-too-recent past; it would've been a more difficult trek, maybe, but nothing the two of them couldn't handle. But he's at least relieved that she doesn't seem too shaken up. Maybe they'll do that on the way back.

"Oh," Miri groans, "those were so good. Wilhelm was right. Definitely makes up for this afternoon."

...Or maybe they'll stick with the path they already know. "Aye. We'll have to stop in for some more on our way back."

"Yes!" She pumps her fist in the air. "For sure. And I'll pick up the tab next time." Vilkas startles, and she grins. "Didn't think I'd notice, huh? You were very sneaky-kind. As usual."

Well. He can't exactly deny it. "It's nothing," he says. "I don't want you to worry about it."

"I won't," she says. "I have plenty of money."

"Enough to buy the house on the corner?" Vilkas asks. When she hesitates, he grins. "Then let me. It's fine. Kodlak would give us a stipend for this if we asked, in any case."

"Vilkas..."

"I'm sure." He pats her shoulder. "Save your money. I know you've got plans for it."

"Don't you?" she asks, and he shrugs. "Not really," he says. "No wife, no kids. I like living in Jorrvaskr, for the most part. I make a decent living, working for the Companions, and Kodlak saw that I started getting paid as soon as I was old enough to take on real work." He smiles. "So, no. I'm fine. Eat your ribs."

She grumbles a little, but after a minute she nudges his side, gives him a funny little smile. "Thank you," she says. "I'll be looking out to get you back, though!"

"Have my back on the road, and that's more than enough." Vilkas stretches, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. A bellyful of food and drink and a long day is making him pleasantly drowsy - probably not enough to sleep, but he'll certainly be able to rest quietly for a bit. "Are we ready to turn in?"

"Definitely!" Miri takes the key and heads for the door, Vilkas following after her after leaving a few septims on the table in thanks. He hears her startled noise, but it doesn't really register until he's standing behind her...

...And staring at an enormous double bed.

"Oh," she says. "He, um, must not have realized that we weren't - "

She breaks off, and they look at each other. "...I hate to wake him," she says. "Do you need...?"

"No, it's fine," he says quickly. "You take the bed. I don't need to lie down."

She frowns. "But you'll be more comfortable, won't you? You do at least relax at night, right?" She looks at the bed and back to him. "I don't think I crowd, if you want to just...split it."

Vilkas looks at the double bed, and looks at Miri, chewing on her lip nervously. Looks back at the bed, which seems smaller when he's staring it down. Or maybe that's just him.

"...Alright," he says. It'll be a longer night for him, having to rein his wolf back with her scent everywhere, but he knows she's trying to do him a good turn. "If you aren't sleeping well, just let me know and I'll move."

"I don't think it'll be a problem," she says, halfway through a yawn already. If she has any shyness about the prospect of undressing in front of him, she certainly isn't showing it, unbuckling her armor piece by piece and setting it aside. He realizes he's been staring when she lifts her breastplate up and off, and then turns around quickly, catching up on taking his own armor off.

The covers rustle, and he turns to see her climbing into bed, and that she's stuck to sleeping in the tunic and leggings she wears underneath her mail. He pauses, hands at the hem of his shirt. 

"Just get in how you're comfortable," Miri says sleepily, her voice half-muffled by her pillow. "I don't care."

_Hm. Well..._ He strips it off and drops it on the ground. His own leggings he keeps - whether she cares or not, he does think he owes her some modesty - and, with a heavy sigh, crawls into bed next to her.

Thankfully the bed is decently large. He can sense Miri's tension, but there really is a good half a foot of space between them; plenty of room for two people to share. 

Vilkas settles back into the pillow, closing his eyes. As he hears Miri's breathing slow to a soft, steady noise, he gradually relaxes. It won't be strange, he realizes, relieved. They'll pass the night, and it'll be fine.

He comes back to awareness a little while later, slowly. _Where..._ he thinks, and then remembers. _Foot of High Hrothgar. Right._

It's still dark in the room, but it's cold now, significantly colder in the room. His left foot is sticking out from under the covers, and cold despite his wolf blood. He tucks it back under and sighs, letting his senses come back slowly. 

He turns his head to look at Miri. Her brow is knit, and he frowns in return - that's not good, she ought to be sleeping restfully - and tries to see if he can suss out what's wrong.

When he's actually paying attention, he can feel the tiny shivers coming from her. She's curled up in a ball, and he can see one of her shoulders peeking out from under the blanket. Probably in an effort to give him enough room, he realizes. After another moment to make a vague plan, Vilkas scoots closer to her, pulls the blanket closer to her side of the bed, and tucks the wayward corner in around her.

The effect is almost immediate. Miri grips the edge of the blanket in her sleep, huffing as she burrows closer to him, further into the warm cocoon. _Better,_ he thinks, and shuts his eyes again, letting the quiet sense of having _provided_ lull his wolf into rest.

And then, Miri shifts again, and one of her toes brushes the back of his knee.

Only a truly incredible effort keeps Vilkas from letting out a horrified yell. He'd thought he'd be sharing a bed with a Breton, not a _Draugr_! 

"Why in the Divines' name are your feet so damn _cold_ ," he mutters. Tentatively, he brushes knuckles against her shoulder to see if she's as chilled everywhere, and while she isn't quite as bad she definitely can't be warm. He's surprised her teeth aren't chattering.

After a long, long round of mental back and forth, Vilkas sighs, and shuffles closer until he's pressed against her, side by side. He doesn't really have...an excuse, or a plan, for when she wakes up, but if she's angry with him at least she won't have frozen to death on his watch.


	13. The Trek Begins

By morning, Miri's rolled herself on top of Vilkas, lying peacefully curled up against his chest. He spends most of the rest of the night trying to remind himself of all of the reasons that it would be a fool's errand to take an interest in her, romantically - she's the Dragonborn and all of the burden that comes with it, she's much too busy to pursue anything, she isn't a wolf like him and might take exception to it.

Even he can only lie to himself so much, though. The truth is, whether they're just bracing against the chill or not, he's enjoying having the time with her like this, soaking in her warmth and sweet scent.

But the sunlight does come, eventually. He stills when she begins to stir, but she rolls to the side, burying her face in the untaken pillow with a disgruntled noise. He stifles a laugh, and gives into his better judgment at last, dressing and slipping out of bed.

Wilhelm is up and appears to be cleaning with as much enthusiasm as he cooks, humming a cheerful tune as he sweeps the floor. "Good morning!" he offers quietly, when he catches sight of Vilkas. "Is the bride still asleep?"

"The bride is actually not the bride," Vilkas says gently, "but yes, fortunately she's still asleep."

Wilhelm apologizes for the mix-up, and then a second time when he realizes that he put the two of them in a room with a double bed. He offers to refund their fee, and Vilkas is still smiling and insistently waving him off when Miri walks out.

She's still in her night clothes and loose sleep braid as she stumbles forward, looking tired but satisfied. "Oh good, you're still here," she mumbles, yawning and stretching. She sits down at the breakfast table, knocking her forehead into Vilkas's shoulder as she squints blearily. "Was almost afraid you'd left without me."

"I wouldn't," Vilkas says, highly amused. "Wilhelm is cooking us breakfast before we go, so you have a minute or two to wake up first."

"An apology breakfast, for the trouble," Wilhelm says. "I still wish you'd woken me - though, if you don't mind me saying so, it seems to me you're awfully close, so I hope you can understand how I got the impression!"

"Oh!" Miri says, suddenly looking decidedly more awake and slightly pinker. "No, it was really no trouble. He's warm as a hearth, so I slept well." Then she catches herself and groans as she covers her eyes with her hands. "Not that anything happened!" she adds. "He was just, you know. Radiating it."

Vilkas blinks at her in surprise as Wilhelm roars a laugh. "Well, I won't pretend to know your story," he says, clapping two hands on Miri's shoulders and squeezing. "But if our lass had our lady Mara on, I'd be wondering why you hadn't up and swept her off her feet yet," he adds, with a pointed look at Vilkas.

"It's complicated," Vilkas mutters, as Wilhelm sets two plates of eggs and sausage in front of them. He chortles as Miri frowns in confusion, and Vilkas can only hope his own expression isn't giving too much away.

"Well, eat up, eat up," he encourages. "It'll be a cold one today, Gods preserve you. And you have a long way to go."

"That we do," Miri sighs. "And we'd best do it while it's warmer and lighter."

"We can leave as soon as you've eaten and dressed," Vilkas says. "I'll be ready."

"Adventurers," Wilhelm says, shaking his head. "My father always thought I'd want to be an adventurer. I took an arrow to the knee instead."

"Oh, no!" Miri says. "I hope it wasn't too serious? You look like you move around very well!"

Wilhelm bursts out laughing, and Vilkas gives a little chuckle beside her. "What? That's not _funny_ ," she protests, which makes Wilhelm howl and Vilkas snort as he tries to explain. "Common figure of speech in Skyrim," he says. "He means he got married and settled down."

"Oh. _Oh,_ " she realizes, and then she's laughing too. "I've never heard it before, I'm sorry! I just assumed -"

"No, no, it's quite alright," he says. Smiling wistfully he adds, "She died quite young. I think she would've wanted me to remarry, but I haven't found the right woman yet...and I'm getting older. The time slips by."

"Better to have loved and lost," Vilkas says. "Though for your sake, I'm sorry to hear it."

"Well, put it out of your mind," he says easily. "She loved it here; wouldn't have wanted me to see my guests off somber. So I try to keep the fire going. It was hard at first, but it gets easier. And I think it was good for me at first, having the steady stream of visitors to look after. Could keep myself a bit busy."

"Good morning, Wilhelm," a soft voice calls. Vilkas turns, and the bard from the night before is here. "Lynly," Wilhelm says, "Welcome. Ready to work?"

"Always," she says easily. The two share a smile, and Vilkas thinks, _Huh._ But she scurries into the back without making much eye contact with either of them, her face pinched and nervous. 

"Don't mind," Wilhelm says quietly. "It takes her a bit of a while to warm up to newcomers. She's always fearful. But she's a good girl. Has a good heart. I'm glad for her, that she was able to get out of Riften. I know it wasn't an easy decision."

"Is it really that bad?" Miri asks.

"Aye, every seedy story you've heard and then some," Wilhelm says. "The Thieves' Guild running rampant, some whispers of the Dark Brotherhood." He shakes his head. "The best thing you can do with Riften is to run your errand and pass on through it."

Hm. That definitely sounds like a story; maybe even something for the Companions to follow up on. Kodlak's been discussing opening business into neighboring cities, and it sounds like they'd have a need here. He can hear Miri still asking questions as she goes to get dressed and Wilhelm skillfully deflecting as he clears their plates away. Maybe when they pass back through, he'll talk to Wilhelm about Lynly's story privately, after Miri's gone to bed.

Soon enough, Miri emerges cheerfully, face freshly scrubbed from the washbasin and armored, minus the helm she's balancing on a hip. "Okay," she announces. "I'm ready. Shall we go?"

Vilkas nods. They thank Wilhelm again for his hospitality, and he shakes Vilkas's hand, gives Miri a hug. "Best of luck to you both," he says. "And don't get eaten by frost trolls; I'll look forward to seeing you again, I hope!"

After promises to be back and a few last waves goodbye, they step out into the sunshine. It's brisk with the air coming down off the mountain, but certainly warmer than it was in the night, and the day will get brighter as they climb. "Well," Miri says. "From the foot to the peak, and then we'll see what the Greybeards have to say."

"You lead, I'll follow," Vilkas agrees, and together they turn off the main road, beginning their path to the ascent.

...

As they're about halfway up the slope, Miri says, "So." She's been quiet, lost in thought, and Vilkas turns his head to hear her over the howling wind. "Yes?" he asks.

"Wilhelm said something I didn't quite catch," she says. "Something about...Mara? I don't know. I wasn't quite sure what he was talking about."

_Dammit,_ Vilkas thinks, and nearly slips on the icy stone steps. "Careful!" Miri calls, reaching an arm out to steady him, and it gives him the split-second he needs to regain his footing. And his composure.

Where to start. Well, he'll start with the obvious, he guesses. "You remember things about the Nine?" Vilkas asks. "Or the Eight, depending on who you talk to?"

"Mara, goddess of love," Miri says. "I didn't remember, actually, but I've picked some up since then. But I thought he said something about _wearing_ Mara?"

"Okay," Vilkas says. "So when someone talks about a woman wearing Mara - or a man, though that's less common - it's a signal that she's open to romance. Usually it's an amulet, because it's easily visible. But it can be any piece of jewelry with the symbol, really."

"Oh! Okay." She hums thoughtfully. "Do you - I mean, are they common? Do you buy them? I don't think I've ever picked one up before."

"Not especially, I guess," Vilkas says, thinking about it. "My mother had one, from when she met my father. But I think her mother passed it down to her. I think it's pretty typical, to pass it down like that."

"Oh," she says. She sounds disappointed. "But surely there's a way to get them otherwise? If you...don't have a mother to pass it down. Or if you're an orphan. Or even an impatient second daughter!" she laughs. "Right?"

"The Temple of Mara would probably have some," he agrees. "In Riften. I would guess that they probably have them smithed in town and then bless them there."

"Oh! So that's not too far from here," she says. "Good to know." She flashes him a smile. "Thanks, Vilkas."

"You're welcome." He's half-waiting for the other shoe to drop - _what did Wilhelm mean, sweep me off my feet, Vilkas_ \- but it doesn't come. She lapses back into silence with a little smile on her face, curiosity apparently satisfied, and that's that.

Vilkas isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed.


	14. The Greybeards' Test

As they continue to ascend the slope, the wind howls and bites at them, and the path grows even more challenging to find footing on, layers of stone slab buried beneath ice and snow. 

Vilkas can hear Miri's teeth chattering and wishes he could do something for her - but, there's nothing he really can do, save for providing as much of a wind block as he can, so he keeps up a steady pace and pretends not to see her shivering violently. She's layered as much as she could, and so has he, and the only remedy will be going up and into the Greybeards' sanctuary.

As they near the peak, Vilkas starts to smell the smoke of a warm fire. He starts to turn to tell Miri the same, but all of a sudden there's a deafening roar from directly behind them, and Miri screams as she's lifted clear off the ground by an enormous, irate frost troll.

"Miri!" he shouts, drawing his axe and striking a blow at the troll's midsection. The troll roars in pain, but even with all of his strength, Vilkas barely scratches him - nor does he drop Miri, who's kicking violently and struggling for air, the blasted thing's meaty fist wrapped around her throat.

"Miri," he shouts, "Fire, use your fire!" He's seen her cast it wordlessly. If she has the strength to weaken it, even if only a little -

Miri blasts the troll's fist with both hands, and it drops her as it lets out a pained bellow. The sudden drop staggers her as the troll stumbles back, but she's back on her feet in a moment, twin jets of flame streaming from her hands. Vilkas hacks at its ribcage as she burns it, the acrid stench of searing flesh and fat filling the air as they work together to take it down.

Finally, its strength seems to evaporate, and it tumbles to the ground with a wet, squelching thud. He quickly turns to Miri, making sure she's okay, and is just in time to dart over to catch her around the waist as her eyelids flutter and she pitches forward.

Vilkas quickly lowers her to the ground and digs a healing potion out of his pack. Miri blinks dizzily at him, eyes unfocused, and he murmurs "Here, potion," pops the cork and presses the lip of the bottle to her mouth.

He gives her slow sips of potion until she focuses, blinking up at him. "M'okay," she croaks. "Magicka?"

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking around for her own pack. He finds it, and thankfully the little blue bottle is front and center. "Here," he says. He's choking up, and does his best to cover it with a cough. "Had me worried for a minute," he says, when his voice is steadier.

He thinks she might make a joke or try to downplay it, but she nods gingerly as she drains the rest of the potion. "If you can walk, we should probably keep going," he says. "Not much longer to the top, I can smell smoke. And if there's a troll nest nearby..."

He trails off, leaving the rest unspoken. "Help me up?" she murmurs, and, slow but steady, she's able to get to her feet. "Think m'okay," she says. "Let's go."

They pick their way up the steeper steps, with a much warier eye out. "I'm sorry," he says, as they walk. "I should've been listening more closely."

She shakes her head wordlessly, waving a hand. He can see the soft glow of her restoration magic - she must be regenerating enough magicka to be able to heal herself. Good, he thinks. They'll be able to get her some rest with the Greybeards, and then she'll be out of the woods.

...

After a moment to set the supplies in the icy chest at the foot of the stairs into the monastery - must be to keep the perishables cold, Vilkas figures, smart - they approach the entry.

The door is large and impressive, exquisitely carved and clearly built to weather hundreds of years of snow and icy wind. _Maybe more,_ Vilkas thinks, gazing up at the doorway. The place feels as ancient as some of the crypts he's been to, the stones seeming to thrum with their own sort of power.

"Well," Miri says, her voice a soft, raspy whisper. "This is it."

She pauses with her hand on the door. She seems nervous, and Vilkas can see why. Until now, only the rumor mill of Whiterun know what her role in Skyrim's destiny is. Swallowing a dragon soul by accident is one thing - going to find out what to do about it, from some of the most venerated souls in Tamriel, is another entirely.

"You'll be fine," Vilkas murmurs, putting a hand to her shoulder and squeezing, a gesture of support, understanding. "Whatever they'll ask of you...I know you can face it." _I believe in you,_ he thinks. _You can do this._

She flashes a grateful smile his way, and turns back, squaring her shoulders. She places both hands on the door and, after a steadying breath, gives a hard pull.

The door creaks as it bears way to a beautiful stone entryway. Vilkas drinks it all in - the elaborately carved dragon figures, the brazier for what he thinks is probably incense. A wizened man with a kindly smile walks toward them, coming down the stone steps. "So," he says, "the Dragonborn appears...at this moment, in the turning of the age. And her companion in tow." Vilkas inclines his head respectfully.

"I'm answering your summons," Miri says. "Vilkas is of the Companions, in Whiterun. He's come to aid me on the journey."

"We will see if you truly are the Dragonborn," he says. "Your voice. It sounds weakened. Are you well?"

"We were attacked by a frost troll on the way up," Vilkas says. "It did its best to crush her windpipe. But she fought bravely."

"It is good to hear, though we are not generally advocates of violence," he says. "We seek peace above all else. But, of course...times being what they are, we understand that heroes must walk a different path." He extends a hand in greeting. "My name is Arngeir. Welcome, Dragonborn...?"

"Miri," she says quickly. "Pleased to meet you."

"And welcome to you as well, Vilkas," Arngeir adds. "Unfortunately, I will need to test that Miri truly is who she says she is - I will need to taste of her Voice."

"Will I be able to?" Miri asks, looking unsure. "I can barely speak above a whisper right now. Even after healing myself."

"There is a difference between healing fresh from a battle, and resting recovery. We have many remedies for the throat." His eyes twinkle as he adds, "In our line of study, it becomes a necessity. So do not fear. We will teach you how to perform your shout relying on your soul, and to separate it from your speaking voice."

He turns to Vilkas. "And for this, you will not likely be able to stay. Most ears cannot withstand the violent tones of our Thu'um." He pierces Vilkas with a knowing look. "And, if things are as they have been in the past, I'm given to understand that you of the Companions have particularly sensitive hearing."

"...Some of us," Vilkas agrees grudgingly. He isn't sure how he feels about the fact that the Greybeards apparently know the secret of the Companions. "We aren't all that way."

"As is custom, I'm led to understand," Arngeir agrees. "Nevertheless. As her traveling companion, I imagine you wish to stay - but it is impossible. Even the short few days of training would materially impact your hearing."

"There has to be something we can do," Miri presses. "Please. He came with me all this way..."

"It's okay, Miri," Vilkas says, and smiles. "I have a few errands to run in Riften. And since we know where the troll nest is now, I'll be perfectly safe on my own. And you're well-protected here, of course. So I can make the trip, and then come back to rejoin you on the way back to Whiterun."

"There's no sense in you making the trip twice," Miri says, frowning. "I'll do my training, and then I'll meet you in Ivarstead." She turns to Arngeir. "When should I expect to finish?"

"It is difficult to say." Arngeir scratches his chin. "If you are so close to mastery--as I suspect you are, if you can truly Shout, since your speech is not rattling the stones of our walls - then I would expect the insights we have to offer you would only take a few days to learn, perhaps two or three."

"And if not?" she asks. "I don't want Vilkas to have to sit and wait for me for too long."

"Sadly, I do not know," Arngeir says. "I wish I did. But the tales of Dragonborns are old and sparsely recorded, most passed down to us through folktale rather than fact. However," he adds, stroking his beard, "Whether or not you are able to master the Way of the Voice, time is of the essence. Our master believes he knows what we are up against, and he is not often wrong."

"Your master?" Miri looks around, as if expecting more Greybeards to jump out around every corner. "How many of you are there?"

"We are five in number, including myself," he says. "Paarthunax is our leader, but he does not often venture out of his sanctuary atop the mountain. And the only path is covered in thick, dense clouds, so only a master of the Voice is able to reach him.

"Young man," Arngeir continues, smiling as he turns to Vilkas. "We will send her to you in Ivarstead in three days' time, with as much preparation as we are able to give her. Whatever she accomplishes here in that time, from that point she will likely have more tasks to see through."

"I understand," Vilkas agrees. He picks his pack back up and re-shoulders it, with a rueful look at Miri. "Good luck," he says. "I'll leave now, so I can be back in Ivarstead by sundown."

Miri looks at him for a long moment, and then to his surprise, barrels forward for a tight hug. "I wish you didn't have to go," she mumbles.

_And I wish we weren't doing this in front of an audience,_ he thinks. He can feel Arngeir's eyes on them both as he wraps his arms around her in return, resting his cheek against her head. Though there's more he wants to say to her before they part, he steps back with a heavy sigh, settling for gently ruffling her hair. "I know. Be good," he says.

"Be safe," she echoes, stepping back and holding her arms tightly to herself. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"With any luck, you'll get there first," he says, grinning. He waves, and with some effort keeps his grin steady even as he watches Miri chew unhappily on her lip, her brow knit as she waves reluctantly.

He closes the heavy door shut behind him, and blows out a long breath. By the gods. They'll be gone from each other for less than a week.

Shaking his head at himself, Vilkas turns, and starts to descend the slope, the fresh-fallen snow crunching soft and quiet under his feet.

He has the feeling he's in for a lot of heavy thinking between here and Riften.


	15. From Riften, With Love

Vilkas hasn't been to Riften in some years, but the city hasn't changed a bit. The sworn guards attempting extortion (it's safe to say, after Vilkas grabbed them and knocked their heads together soundly, that they won't be trying that with him again), the stench of the Ratway seeping up into the city, a pickpocket reaching for his purse as the man on the corner shouts about "genuine Falmer blood elixir" (that, after catching a whiff of the concoction, Vilkas is fairly sure is tomato juice). By the time Vilkas arrives in front of the Jarl, his mood is thoroughly soured.

Jarl Laila Law-Giver is a very pretty woman, but something about her makes Vilkas thinks she isn't particularly suited to be running a hold. She jumps at the prospect of Riften forming an alliance with the Companions and financing some work for them, but they're all things like giant-slaying or thinning the local Spriggan population. She's either quite obtuse or deliberately ignoring the rampant corruption and her city's reputation, neither of which Vilkas sees as a mark of a strong, capable leader - and her idiot son is no better, puffed up and crowing over his traitorous brother getting thrown in jail for openly speaking out against the rest of his family's fervent support of the Stormcloaks.

He spares a moment of gratitude for Jarl Balgruuf's tight watch on the city and skilled political maneuvering to keep the hold more or less neutral. He hadn't given it much thought, but Whiterun's cleanliness and peace owes much to his pragmatism and strong leadership. He's glad that Miri ended up there first after her ordeal in Helgen--he can't imagine her boundless optimism and outspoken nature making herself a comfortable home here.

...But maybe he's just biased, he admits to himself, as he stops in front of the temple of Mara. Maybe she'd have ended up under care of the priesthood here, a place of refuge for those like her, men and women with plenty of open heart to go around. In some other lifetime, a time of peace, he could see her in the habits the other women here seem to wear, sweeping the temple steps, passing out flyers.

_I wonder if she'd like a souvenir,_ Vilkas thinks, recalling their earlier conversation, and smiles to himself as he jogs up the temple steps.

...

Vilkas is back on the road at dusk. He doesn't feel the need to stay in Riften any longer than absolutely necessary, and with his enhanced abilities, night travel is much easier. He'll wait for Miri at Ivarstead and offer some assistance while he's there, maybe to the local farmers, or perhaps he'll see if Wilhelm has any work that needs doing.

That part of the plan he's fine with. It's the amulet softly clinking in his pack that he's second-guessing himself about. He hadn't really thought about it until it was bought and he was well on his way out, but an Amulet of Mara...

On the surface, he'd intended it as a gift between friends. 'You'd mentioned you didn't have one of these and you seemed like you might want one, so I got you one.'

But now that he's re-examining it, he feels like it might be more along the lines of 'You didn't have an Amulet of Mara to wear, and I'd like to see you wearing one, so I bought one for you.' Which...a proposal of formal courtship is something he wants, perhaps, but not _now_. Not in the middle of dragons coming back to life, of Greybeards and crypt crawls and solving mysteries, in a country on the brink of civil war. There's going to be no good time to think about settling down, about starting a family, for some years.

On the other hand. The thought of Miri getting swept of her feet by someone else, in the heat of the moment, after how much closer the two of them have grown...

It could happen. Vilkas hasn't exactly declared his interest. And losing her to someone else...it would tear at his heart.

_Okay,_ he thinks, steeling himself. _You'll give her the amulet. And you'll say..._

Say _what_ , exactly? _Save this for later_ , like a piece of pie? _After you become a hero of legend, will you marry me?_ A little more likely, but too strong, and somehow still ridiculous.

...And now he's back to where he started. Dammit.

Well, he'll figure it out. If it comes up naturally in conversation, maybe he'll give it to her and it won't be a big deal. Or if not...he'll hang onto it, for a better time.

He's going to have to move it out of the way of the potions, though. That clinking is going to drive him nuts.

...

Vilkas is helping Wilhelm unload crates of mead when Miri walks in the next morning. She looks fine - better than fine, she looks good, like a weight's been lifted from her. "Vilkas!" she calls when she sees him, waving and jogging over, and Wilhelm gives him a nudge and a wink. "I'll take it from here," he says, lifting one of the last few mead crates out of Vilkas's arms. "Go on. Go see what she's been up to. And make sure it's outlandish enough to bring us some patronage by the time you get home to Whiterun!"

Vilkas chuckles and, with a nod of thanks, relinquishes his load. "Hi," he says, as Miri gives him a big grin. "Good trip, I take it?"

"I learned how to turn the dragon souls I absorb into Shouts," she says, practically bouncing on her feet. "Did you know that Shouts come in three-word sets? I didn't. They taught me a second word of one I already know, and a new one, for sprinting. It's going to come in handy, I can already tell. Oh, and they're sending me on a quest as a final trial! And then they're going to give me some more information."

"Okay, okay," Vilkas teases. "Slow down. Begin at the beginning."

"I'm going to begin at the end, actually," she laughs. "The last part of my training with the Greybeards means I need to go to Ustengrav. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller is what I'm looking for, apparently. It sounds like it's between Morthal and Dawnstar."

Vilkas shudders. "What?" Miri asks, as they wave to Vilkas and walk back out on the main road. "Is it really that bad?"

"It's vampire country," Vilkas says. "And swampy. Solitude is nice enough, but it's north of Ustengrav, so it may not make sense to make a stop there."

"Oh," she says. She sounds disappointed. "Well. I guess some people must like it or no one would call it home, right?"

"That's true," Vilkas allows. "If you want someone to come with you - and we still aren't too busy at Whiterun..."

"I wouldn't ask you to do that," she says, laughing. "You just told me how awful it was!"

"It's not somewhere I want to _live_ ," he says, shrugging. "But I'd follow you there."

Miri stops walking, staring at him, and Vilkas realizes how that must've sounded. "I mean, if something needs doing," he adds hastily, as he feels the flush steal up his cheeks. "The burden shouldn't all be on you."

Miri's incredulous stare softens into a soft smile as she starts walking again, slowly. Waiting for him. "I think that was the nicest thing you've ever said, Vilkas." She laughs. "But. Enough about me. Tell me about Riften. What'd you do?"

So Vilkas tells her about the city, the gate guards, the Jarl and her sons. "So we may have a contract," he says. "Kodlak and the others will need to approve it. But more coin outside of our own hold would be a plus."

"Of course!" Miri agrees. "That's great news, Vilkas. It sounds like it went well." She bounds ahead and then turns back, sticking her tongue out playfully. "No souvenirs for me, though. I'm disappointed."

She's obviously teasing, but - maybe it's the right time. "Well, as it happens, I did get you something," he says, stopping briefly to rifle around in his pack. "I wasn't sure whether or not to give it to you, but. Here."

"Oh, no, Vilkas!" she says, cheeks pink as she claps a hand over her eyes. "I was just kidding..."

She trails off as Vilkas extends his closed fist to her, opens her hand and he drops the amulet into her palm, carefully letting the chain spill over last so it doesn't tangle. "Since we talked about it," he says, "and...I wanted you to have one, if you wanted one. So I thought, uh." He can feel himself flushing. _Stop it, Vilkas._ "Even if you just wanted to save it for the future, or something," he mumbles, and clamps his mouth shut before he can _completely_ insert his foot in it. 

"I'm still not really sure how it works," Miri confesses, after a pause, a quiet smile on her face as she traces over Mara's symbol. "But. I'm really happy. This is such a...sweet, and incredibly thoughtful gift, Vilkas." She closes her eyes, cups it between two hands. "It's warm," she says. "And...fluttering. I think there's some magic in it."

"Oh. Really?" A safe topic! Vilkas jumps for it. "I was told that the priests of Mara always blessed them with restorative power. But I thought that was just a story."

"No, I don't think so," she says. She lets the amulet dangle as she unhooks the clasp, pulling it up and around her neck. She fiddles with the clasp again at the back, but she can't quite seem to get it hooked, fingers passing each other until she finally gives up with a huffed laugh. "Can you help me put it on?" she asks.

"Now?" She nods at him and smiles, and his heart is suddenly pounding. Who else could she be interested in, to put it on now? Maybe the future of having to fight suitors off for her hand is a little closer than he thought. "You...won't you get, uh. Propositioned?"

"I think that's sort of the point, isn't it?" She grins as he gets it for her, steps back carefully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Vilkas says, on autopilot. After a moment to think, he adds, "You want offers for your hand? Even in all of this?"

"Yes," she says firmly, to his utter shock. Some of it must show on his face, because she tilts her head, pinning him with a look he can't quite decipher. "I might die in this, Vilkas," she says gently. "The world might end. If not now, then when?"

"That's not," he says, frustrated. He blows out a long breath, trying to regain his composure. "I want you to be happy," he says. "I don't want you to rush into something because you feel like you need to. Whoever offers should...should really mean it. They need to do right by you."

"I agree," she says. "And wearing one doesn't mean I say yes, right? I still have my choice. And I can ask for more time, if I need it."

"Well - aye," Vilkas agrees. "But - !"

"But what?" she asks. She still has that teasing, fond note in her voice, like she has a secret he isn't privy to.

"Then why even put it on," he says. "If you're just going to say no?"

"Maybe I was hoping someone would ask me why," she says softly, wistfully. "Because I think I know how they feel? But it's come on a little bit suddenly, and sometimes I'm not quite sure. So I thought I should do my part to tell him that I'm open to being...more than just friends."

"...Oh." She means _him,_ , Vilkas realizes, she wants _him_ to -

He takes her by the shoulders, struggling to explain. "Miri," he says. He brings one hand to her chin, tilting it up gently. She lets him, meeting his eyes with a look that's equal parts challenge and hope. "I want you to be mine," he murmurs, drawing in close. "And I yours. But I want to court you first. Slowly."

"Okay," she whispers, all joy as she beams up at him. Vilkas briefly squeezes his eyes shut in abject relief, and after a breath to compose himself, carefully presses his lips to hers.

She sighs as he pulls her in closer for a second kiss, and then another, deepens it. She feels like a dream in his arms, meeting him slow but hungry, kiss for kiss. His wolf is howling straight from his chest, a song of victory. _Bite her. Claim her. Make her yours._

_No,_ he thinks, stern. This is about her. Treating her with care, setting her at ease. Reluctantly, he draws himself up, softening his grip on her hips as he straightens. "I want you," he says, helplessly, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can process them. "But I can't, not right away, the wolf is -"

"Okay," she says, easy and bright. Her mouth is plumper, redder, and he can't stop staring at it. "Let's continue later, if you're okay to?" she adds hopefully, "But slower. Safer. Closer to home."

He nods hurriedly, and then stops. Home. "When we get there," he says. "Do you want to...tell people?"

"I'd like to," she says. "I don't think it has to be a big announcement or anything. But if people ask, about the amulet..." She smiles. "I'd like to be able to say it's for you, if that's okay."

He smiles broadly, helplessly, the implications sinking in. That he's interested for the long-term, that she is too. Somehow it's just all worked out, better than he could've hoped for. Vilkas pulls Miri back in, kissing the top of her head and then holding her close. "My girl," he says, a soft, quietly possessive rumble. "I'm more than happy to share it."


	16. Heading Home

They return to Whiterun without further incident. They hold their breath through Helgen, gaze shifting around for stragglers, but any bandits apparently saw the piles of bodies and wisely hit the road. Camilla meets them in Riverwood, and they stop at the Sleeping Giant for a drink and a hot meal before getting on the road again. She doesn't comment directly on Miri's amulet, but gives her a knowing look and pulls her aside for some 'girl talk,' and Vilkas is left to sip his mead by the fire while Sven and Faendal play some kind of table game with stones and a lot of hushed but good-natured accusations of cheating.

All in all, it's a pleasant trip - returning with the potential beginnings of answers, a lot of next steps to follow up on, and a lot of smiling at each other now that neither of them feel like they have to hide from their feelings.

They return to a full table and warm laughter as they push open the doors to Jorrvaskr. "Welcome home," everyone choruses, Tilma taking their packs and setting them aside as she ushers them over to the table.

"Miri," Aela says, with a sly smile and a glance at her amulet, then at Vilkas. "I was going to ask how the trip went, but I see I really don't need to ask after all, do I?"

They both blush - Miri looks at him with a smile, and Vilkas gives her a lopsided grin and rolls his eyes. "And here we were going to share our news with you," Vilkas says. "But since you already know _everything_..."

"Some of the news is unsurprising," Kodlak teases, with a twinkle in his eye. "But I _would_ be much interested to hear about your time with the Greybeards. Did you find out anything useful?"

"Not quite," Miri says. "They need to test me first - they tested my Shouts, and taught me a new one, but I was asked to retrieve a sacred horn for them in a place that apparently only the Dragonborn can access. After that, I'll be able to meet with their leader in his sanctuary up on top of the mountain, and then they'll be able to tell me a lot more."

"It was disappointingly cryptic," Vilkas adds, having heard the details on the way home. "I think...well, it would make sense for them to prefer to live in seclusion, given their learning of the Shouts, but I think we both left feeling like they're hiding something."

"Any group has its secrets," Kodlak agrees. "Some important to be kept until the time is right."

Miri tenses beside him; Vilkas is prepared to change the subject, but Ria beats him to the punch. "You all know the only secret we're really interested in," she says, grinning at Aela before jerking a thumb at Vilkas. "So. What's he like in bed?"

Torvar and Athis roar with laughter, as Miri stammers "I - we didn't! It's just -" and Vilkas drops his head into his hands. "Uh-oh," Skjor drawls. "So bad she won't even _talk_ about it."

"While I hate to disappoint everyone," Vilkas says, dry but firm, "we were mostly busy fighting our way through the charred-out shell of Helgen, which a group of bandits had decided to make a home out of, and most of the way up the mountain, we ran into a frost troll nest and Miri nearly died. I'm courting her, formally, and we talked about whether we wanted to be open about it and we decided that we did. But that's all."

After a few more sheepish snickers, Njada raises her mug. "To both of you," she says. "And it's about damn time."

"Hear hear," Farkas agrees, raising his own. "It's clear how happy you make each other, and I'm proud to stand at your backs."

The others raise their glasses in toast with a hearty chorus. Vilkas looks over at Miri, flushed and grinning, and reaches for her hand under the table, pleased when she squeezes his back.

...

They separate after dinner for a time, Miri off to the shops to sell some hard-won goods, Vilkas to the forge to re-sharpen his blade.

He can see the firelight from the back terrace as he heads up to the Skyforge. When he reaches the top, Eorlund is there, hammering away at what looks to be a new steel greatsword. Vilkas watches him for a moment - always a pleasure to see a master smith at his craft - and when the crashing stops, offers "Hail, Eorlund."

Eorlund's head pops up in surprise, and then he grins. "Hail, Vilkas! Returned in one piece, I see."

"Not for others' lack of trying," Vilkas quips, sliding his blade out of his sheath. "Bandits in Helgen, frost trolls climbing High Hrothgar, cutpurses in Riften...it's been a long few days."

"Well, you were much missed, lad." Eorlund claps a friendly hand to his shoulder. "You remember what I always tell you. A sharp blade and a sharp mind..."

"And you'll never go hungry, aye, aye." Vilkas rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "You've been blustering things like that at me since we were both much younger men."

"And it's never once not been true, has it?" Eorlund grins, giving the forge chain a few solid tugs to keep the blaze going. "Meanwhile...I hear you've taken up with one of our lovely ladies in recent days, hm?"

"And as always, the walls have more ears than they ought to," Vilkas grumbles, though it's half-hearted. He's always thought of himself as a fairly private person, not given to flowery declarations of everlasting love or such rot, but he still can't believe his luck - that such a sweet creature would grow into an admirably fierce warrior, brave and impossibly all his. In truth, if all of Whiterun knows by tomorrow, that would suit him fine.

"Should've known when you didn't take to her," Eorlund laughs. "You don't usually feel that strongly about people; not for ill, anyway. And now here you are, star-crossed lovers..."

"Not star-crossed anything yet," Vilkas mutters.

"Aye, for now!" Eorlund says, much too cheerfully. "A lass with lost memory, doomed to become the land's only savior as the Dragonborn, you her faithful furred companion, her duties delaying your happy life together, in love for all of this world but destined never to meet in the next...her in Shor's Hall, quaffing a mug of mead and staring out sadly into the wilderness where Hircine has you -"

"Okay, that's quite enough out of you," Vilkas snaps, stamping on the whetstone pedal with a bit more force than strictly necessary as the grinding nearly drowns Eorlund's awful monologue out. "Go back to your sword. Make yourself useful."

Eorlund, who knows Vilkas well enough to know when he's truly angry, just laughs. "It's good to see you happy," he shouts, uncaring as sparks fly off the blade towards him. "And good to have our own little love story, to remind us all of some good in these dark times! The lass carries a heavy burden, but lighter with you, I'm sure."

Vilkas pauses, pulling his sword away from the wheel. "Do you think so," he asks, quiet. "I...she said I wasn't - I wouldn't be a distraction to her, or at least I'd be a welcome one. But, surely -"

Eorlund looks him in the eye, and laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Lad," he says, "if I've learned two things in this life: one, strike while the iron is hot, and two..." He fixes Vilkas with a long, searching look, and then snorts. "If the missus tells you the sky is down and the earth is up...best not to waste your breath to contradict her."

Vilkas sighs. "Also fair, I suppose."

Eorlund grins at him. "There's no need to rush, if you aren't sure," he says, a bit more gently. "But you've never been a lad whose heart is easy to move. Once you've charted a course for yourself...you've followed it."

"Though not without lots of anxiety first," Vilkas admits, grinning ruefully. "I know you were speaking in jest, but...there are a lot of things that could happen to pull us apart, in the long run. There are a lot of different influences on us; ones we don't necessarily have control over."

Eorlund shrugs. "So you make the best of it together," he says. "Control what you can. Enjoy your time together, however long it might be. Hopefully very long and peaceful, but likelier not. Not that being a couple is all sunshine and roses, mind you, but you'd be surprised what you can work out if you both have a vested interest in staying happy together. And let the rest come as it may."

Vilkas ducks his head, and then looks up at Eorlund, grinning. "So. Listen to the missus."

Eorlund beams, slapping him on the back. "Listen to the missus," he says. "And for the love of the Nine, send her up here for more lessons. I know she's been awfully busy trying not to get her head lopped off, but that's no excuse for not carrying around a blade that suits her!"

"I'll let her know," Vilkas replies dryly.

...

"Oh, damn," Miri groans, drawing a hand down her face. "I did promise I was going to go see him soon, didn't I..."

They've spent a few nights at home, resting up before the long trek to Ustengrav, and with one last night ahead of them, have decided to make a late evening of it. They're walking hand-in-hand along the town walls, Vilkas on the windward side and, as usual, blocking her from the worst of the slicing wind. With the warmth of the torches lining the walls, it's actually quite a pleasant stroll - though Vilkas will admit it was probably a pleasanter stroll for her before the sun went down. "He won't hold it against you," Vilkas says, smiling as he kisses her cheek. "He knows you've had a lot on your mind lately."

"So much," she laughs, "And a lot of it happy. I finally feel like I'm progressing; I know I'm always chasing the light at the end of the road, in that sense, but for once..." She smiles softly at him, tucking a lock of coppery hair behind her ear. "It feels like the dawn can't be too far off."

"You've worked hard," Vilkas agrees. "The town is all a-flutter with you. I can't take a step without someone mentioning what you've done for their family."

"Not as much as I'd like to do, I'm afraid," she says, "but of course, there's always more to be done, isn't there?"

"More to be done, and more to look forward to." They slow to a halt beside the flames near one of the guard towers, and Vilkas feels as much as sees her shiver. "Cold?" he asks, and at her sheepish nod, draws her in. "Come here, then. There's my girl," he murmurs, gratified as she goes easily, happily ducking into the circle of his arms.

They stand together quietly, his wolf relaxing as she loses the edge of her chill, listening to her heart thump steadily. It still surprises him, how much both sides of him have come to care for her - a stray urge here and there he has to tamp down on, but for the most part, after enough denial his beastly half has fallen into its own rhythm of courting her. Where his human half wants to know how she feels for him, that she's happy and returns his love, his wolf is more concerned with the practical nature of things - is she well-fed, is she hale and healthy, has he shown her that he'll be a good provider for her? So he brings her plates of food, keeps her warm, looks after her in small ways - a new jar of sword polish in her rucksack, a set of archery gloves in warm, supple leather tucked underneath her pillow. 

Leaving her with a good-night kiss at the door to the recruits' room has been the hardest, all of his instincts screaming at him to keep her close enough to watch over her in the night, while she's vulnerable. But he does it, because logically he knows how protected she is, surrounded by the other pups and tucked up safely in her own bed. (The importance of maintaining propriety in treating her well isn't easy to convey to his baser nature, but he seems to retain enough good sense for his wolf not to drop warm carcasses at the door, so. Ultimately he can only control himself so much.) When she's warmed up a bit, they reluctantly draw back from each other. "Time to go inside?" he asks. "We've a long ride ahead of us tomorrow."

She nods with obvious reluctance, nose scrunched up. "Don't I know it," she sighs, leaning into him as they head towards the gate steps. "Another journey, another week of being saddle-sore."

He laughs. "Best get you in, then. At least we'll have a soft bed for one more night."

"Mm." They walk together up through the center of town, and as they pass by the Warmaiden's, Miri stops suddenly. "Oh, by the way - hold on," she says, pulling her bag off of her shoulder and rifling around inside. "Where...ah, there it is." She emerges triumphant with a key, chewing on her lip as she hands it to Vilkas.

"What's this?" he asks, turning it over in his palm. "A key?"

She nods carefully. "It's, um," she says. "It's one of two keys to...my new home."

His brow knits, and then clears as she gestures to the door of the Breezehome. "You bought it?" he asks wonderingly, and she quickly nods a confirmation. "I've only been inside it once," she warns, "Lots of dust and cobwebs and other unpleasant things...but I'm buying furnishings for it soon. And I know you want to stay in Jorrvaskr," she adds hurriedly, "I'm not trying to change your plans, or anything. But I've wanted a home of my own since my quest began, and - eep!"

Vilkas scoops her up into a deep kiss, twirling her around in front of the doorstep. "Miri," he says, overcome. The enormity of the gift, the trust in their budding relationship, in him...it's nearly more than he can bear. "I'll love it," he promises. "It's a solid, steady home. If a bit of cleaning and love is what it needs, then that's what we'll give it."

Her eyes widen, and then her face blooms into a dazzling grin. "Having given you a key, you've probably figured this out already," she says, "But...you're welcome, at any time. I want you to be able to feel at home here, too."

He grins helplessly back at her. "You've been inside already?"

"Only once, this morning," she admits, laughing as he sets her down gently on the front step. "Want to have a look?"

"Think I'll let myself in," he teases, sliding the key into the lock and then taking full advantage of the door to kiss her again as he slides the key in, steps backwards with her into the dim entryway.

It's...not much, but he can see why she likes it. His eyes adjust to the dark quickly, and he feels a sense of peace within the walls. It's dusty, for sure, but there's a sense of home and comfort radiating from the inside that he feels good about - a home that's missed having an owner.

There's a dip in the floor where old coals rest from a fire pit, ready to go - and a set of stairs suggests an upper level as well. "Bedrooms upstairs?" he asks. "Yes, two of them," she agrees, "one for a housecarl, who I'll meet when we return, and then of course the master."

"A housecarl." Vilkas raises an eyebrow. He isn't sure how he feels about that, her living alone with another. "Interesting." He scuffs his boot through a layer of dust. "Do you know anything about them yet?"

"I asked for another woman," she says, "Not that I couldn't be friends with a man, too, but I thought it'd be a little less awkward. Her name's Lydia, I'm told, but I'm afraid I don't really know much else about her yet." She reaches out for his hand, squeezes it excitedly. "I suppose I'll find out. I know she'll be working for me, technically, but I hope she and I can become good friends too."

Vilkas huffs a chuckle, relaxing and - maybe - feeling a little foolish for having worried. "I'm sure you will."

She hugs him, a quick squeeze, and then lets him go. "Alright, come on," she says. "We can spend more time here after it's clean and cozy. I just wanted you to see it first."

"I like it very much," he agrees. They step out the door and back onto the path, locking up behind them. "Not that there's much I need to lock for yet, but good to get into the habit," Miri says - and they slowly amble home to Jorrvaskr's halls.


	17. Midnight Meetings and New Plans

Just as Vilkas is settled in for the evening, curled up in bed and a book at hand, there's a brisk knock at his door. He wanders over, pulling it open - he thought Miri would be long asleep by now - and is instead surprised when Aela greets him.

"We need to talk," she says, pushing past him without ceremony. She flops down on the corner of his bed, looking at him expectantly.

"If you're coming to tell me off for courting within our own ranks, you're a little late for that," Vilkas says, dry. "What's this about?"

"Just the opposite." She settles her hands on her knees, leaning forward as she looks up at him. "We think it's time she was offered the chance to become a full member of the Circle."

Vilkas narrows his eyes. Suddenly, the reason for the late hour becomes clear. "When you say 'we'," he says flatly.

"Skjor and I," she admits. "Kodlak doesn't know, nor does your brother. And we don't see any need to tell them."

"So you're deliberately going behind Kodlak's back and against his wishes." Vilkas folds his arms over his chest. "You know how he feels about this, Aela. Otherwise some of our pups would be wolves in their own right by now."

"And you know that we feel differently about his role than you and Farkas do," Aela says. "To you two, he's as much a father figure as you've had since coming to Whiterun as a child. You both see him as your guardian, meant to be obeyed."

"You weren't so much older than I when you came to us," Vilkas reminds her. "You should at least afford him the common courtesy of respect."

"I do respect him. Don't think for a moment that I don't take his warning seriously. I'm not suggesting that all of the pups get the chance to participate," Aela says. "But I also respect our ancient laws and traditions. The Harbinger is a mentor and a guide, not ultimate authority. We don't need his permission to act if we feel it's right."

"And why do you feel it's right?"

"She at least deserves to know the arguments for and against, and to be allowed to make her own decision; she, who already knows who and what we are," Aela says. "As we did. As the Companions of old did. It isn't a choice we would allow her to take lightly."

Vilkas sighs. "Why are you bringing this to me, Aela?" He holds her gaze. "You've made it clear that you intend to see this through, whether I agree with you or not."

"For one thing, your wolf is the least predictable of all of us." She shrugs. "We can't afford to blindside both halves of you. If you have some forewarning, all the likelier her change will be safer, should she choose to accept it."

Practical, if harsh. "So that's it, then?" He snorts in disbelief. "By the by, we've already passed judgment on this decision, try not to lose your temper?"

Aela rolls her eyes. "No; let me finish, you stubborn old goat. Honestly, you're as bad as Kodlak." She shifts, leaning back on her hands. "We'll need an alpha's blood - which, as currently stands, is you, me, and Kodlak. Should she decide that she wants to take the change, I'm happy to provide my blood for the well, but as our other alpha and her new lover, we felt we should at least give you right of first refusal."

"I appreciate the sentiment," he says. "But I have no interest in taking part in any of this. I won't stand in your way, but I can't say I support you."

"Will you think less of her if she takes it?" Aela asks. "If she makes that choice for herself."

"Not in the least," Vilkas answers, without hesitation. "We don't entirely know all of what she faces yet, but it certainly involves huge, furious creatures of legend. She's strong, and getting stronger every day, but there's a difference between inner strength in desperation and the kinds of reflexes and physical gifts she'd have from the transformation."

"And if she made the same choice later, after her quest," Aela presses. "Would you feel differently then?"

"....No," he says, after a moment to think. "I don't expect so. Like you said, Kodlak and I do have a somewhat unique relationship. She isn't necessarily driven to please him - she has her own mind, can make her own choices. I don't have to agree with every decision she makes to trust her." He offers Aela a small, peace-making smile. "As I don't have to agree with every decision you make to continue to be proud to be your shield-brother."

Aela fixes him with a long, unreadable look - and then grins, standing and stretching. "She's softened your sharp edges," she says. "You would've bitten my head off for even suggesting this to you, a few moons ago."

Vilkas smiles. "A few moons ago, I wasn't in love."

"Very true." Footsteps sound in the hallway, and they both turn - Vilkas knows by the sound and shape of them, he realizes, he'll have to teach her to be lighter on her feet.Aela grins. "And speak of the girl," she says. "Good evening, Miri. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Miri comes into the room tentatively, squinting sleepily. She's in a light shift, hair sticking every which way out of her braid. "Aela?" she asks, shuffling uncertainly. "I thought this was..."

"It is," Aela agrees cheerfully. "Just had a question for him," she says, slipping past her and out of the room. Vilkas lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle, stepping into the doorframe. "Hi," he murmurs. "Looking for me?"

She looks up at him, and her face is flooded with abject relief. "Sorry," she says, cheeks coloring. "I had a very unpleasant nightmare, and I just wanted to...I'll go back to sleep now."

Another nightmare. Vilkas remembers those. He hasn't had one in a long time, but he remembers waking up from them, gasping and sweaty, reaching for his parents, his brother. 

Well. Propriety be damned. If she needs him close to rest easy, he'll stay close. "I'm fine, my love," he assures, pulling her into a loose embrace. "Come on. Come back to bed with me. No harm will come to us here."

She nods gratefully, knuckling at her eyes as she staggers forward. Vilkas laughs, and scoops her up, light as a feather in her thin shift, carrying her the last few short steps to the bed and setting her down gently, climbing in beside her. As he's pulling the covers up, she rolls to his side, and he grins and lets her arrange him how she wants - as close as she can get, it seems, snuggling her back up to his chest as she tugs at his arms. Taking the hint, he wraps her up tightly, and she relaxes in a rush of noisy breath. "There," she mumbles.

"Better?" Vilkas murmurs. He waits for her reply, and, receiving none, whispers "Miri?"

Nothing but soft, steady breaths of one already in deep slumber. He shakes his head, hopelessly fond, and presses a kiss to her neck. "Goodnight, then," he whispers, keeping her held tight and safe as he waits for morning to come.

...

In the morning, they roll out their maps over the breakfast table and plot their course.

"Morthal is up here," Vilkas says. "In Hjaalmarch. So we have two choices - either we go around the mountain range, out to the west...or we take the shortcut through the pass, and go directly through the mountains."

"That's much shorter," Miri comments, humming as she traces the shape of the mountain range with a thumb. "Is there some reason we wouldn't travel that way?"

"To the west is all farmland, essentially," Vilkas says. "Aboveground, easy travel along paved roads. We also have the option of stopping at a farmstead here - this is Rorikstead," he says, tapping the map. "So it's a bit lighter packing, and nigh-guaranteed safety. The worst we might run into is highway bandits, maybe a giant or two."

"And the pass?" Miri asks doubtfully.

"The pass...is another matter," Vilkas says. "It sits atop an ancient ruin known as Labyrinthian."

"Which is exactly as foreboding as it sounds?" Miri guesses.

Vilkas grimaces. "Unfortunately," he says. "Because of its location, it gets a pretty constant buffeting of ice, snow, and heavy winds. And, when there are those..."

"There are also frost trolls," Miri mutters, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "Great."

"The good thing is, it is out in the open to some degree," he says. "If we can see them coming at us, or smell them - then I like our chances."

"Plus," Miri adds, grinning as she opens her palm to reveal a carefully-controlled ball of flame. "I've been practicing."

On the one hand, Vilkas knows that she must be starting to feel the time passing. The increasing reports of dragon attacks and the knowledge that they still have so little clarity on the task ahead have been putting mounting pressure on her already-burdened shoulders. 

He knows it's an unreasonable request to make of her when they do have a shorter route available...and yet. Though Vilkas likes their odds much better, even the two of them fully-prepared and anticipating an attack would be hard-pressed to take down several adults coming at them at once. He still remembers the bone-deep fear, the stench of acrid flesh and fat as they hurried her up to the Greybeards for care and rest. The fact that she recovered quickly doesn't mean he liked putting her in harm's way any better.

Some of his struggle must show on his face, because Miri sighs, douses her flame and lets him pull her close. "Vilkas," she sighs, and he nods tightly into her shoulder. If she feels the need to go, he'll follow.

"Well," she says after a moment. "We have reasons to hurry, but none to rush recklessly into danger. If we ride the horses hard, rise before dawn..."

Vilkas hopes his abject sigh of relief wasn't too obvious. "We can push the pace, sure," he says. "I do think a stop in Morthal is a good idea, but if we're feeling rested, we can leave the horses posted there and make the trip to the burial site ourselves at night. We can grab some sleep while it's light -"

"While it's light?" Miri laughs. "Don't you have that backwards?"

Vilkas shakes his head with a grimace. "You'll see when we get there," he says, rolling up the vellum and tucking it back in Miri's pack for her. "But no one has a restful sleep in Morthal at night."


	18. The Westward Road

Miri and Vilkas ride the roads hard and fast, arriving in Rorikstead just before the midday meal. The Frostfruit Inn welcomes them gladly, and Vilkas places an order with the innkeep while Miri tends to the horses.

She's gone a long time, longer than it ought to take to pass the reins and a few coin to the innkeeper's boy for their care. Hoping she hasn't gotten herself into trouble, Vilkas stands and goes out and around the back to check up on her...and finds her out back, along with the boy, horses still mussed but happily guzzling at the trough while the two are at locked swords.

Quick as a flash, Miri sweeps a leg out, and with a grunt of effort sends the boy toppling over. She has her the tip of her shortsword pointed at his neck in seconds. "Yield, Erik," she says. 

"I yield," he says grudgingly. Miri lets him up, and he dusts himself off. "Don't feel bad," Miri offers, with a secret smile at Vilkas - she must have sensed him behind him. "My teacher got me with that one a time or two."

"Must be strict, to fight as well as you do," Erik says glumly, taking the hand up she offers him. "Still, I fear my pride's more bruised than my arse."

"Both of mine were, at first," she says, grinning. "Erik, Vilkas. Vilkas, Erik."

Vilkas gives the lad a nod, draping an arm around Miri's waist as he does. Wouldn't do to have him think she was unspoken for. "Erik," he says.

"I know that armor," Erik bursts, eyes alight. "You're a Companion!"

"Aye, as is our lass," Vilkas agrees, with a fond smile for Miri as she gives him a gentle squeeze. Assessing the situation, he adds, "They've got room for more strong Nords, you know. Long as you don't mind some grunt work to start, they'll train you, if you pass the first test."

Erik gives him a lopsided smile. "I can't," he says, pained, "kind of you as it is to say. We aren't exactly rich men, and my Da's getting older. I can't leave him to work the farm alone, not with his old injuries."

"Your father was a warrior?" Miri asks, and Erik grins. "One of the best!" he says, "An Imperial legionnaire, and proudly. 'S how he met Mum. One look at him in his armor, he always says, and boom! She was his. Scraped up enough money to buy the farm, and they settled out here - and Mum had me."

"You could do mercenary work," Vilkas says. "Companions are a warm bed and a hot meal, but not much in the way of pay. But these days, with the dragons coming back to life..." Vilkas shrugs. "Plenty of rich lords and ladies who have the coin to spare, for a little extra security. Could send enough home to your da for him to hire more help, make it worth the while."

"That would be amazing. A dream come true," Erik says, with a rueful laugh. "But Da's old armor doesn't fit me, and we're keeping ourselves fed, but not much else; certainly not after the tax collector comes around. No, I'd best keep my nose to the grindstone," he says. "I'll take care of those horses for you...no charge, as promised. You won fair and square. My thanks for livening up a boring day."

"Maybe when we pass back through here, we'll bet on it again," Miri says, and Erik gives her an nod and a wave as they head inside.

"Your lunch is on the table," the innkeeper says. Vilkas wouldn't have guessed the soldier's life for him before, but now that he's looking more closely he can see it in the way he carries himself, tall and stiff-backed with precise, neat hands as he dices potatoes.

"Mralki, was it?" Miri asks. "We met your son, Erik. He's your only one?"

"Aye. And a good lad," Mralki says proudly. Then his face falls. "I know he's only staying on to humor these old bones," he says. "Begs the adventurers who pass through to spar with him, tell him all about life outside. He got you too, I suspect?" he asks, and sighs as Miri gives him a smile. "His mother and I wanted more children," he says. "Another son, more inclined to settling, and he could go live the life he pleases. But the gods saw fit to take her from us, along with our second."

"I'm sorry," Miri murmurs, and he waves her off. "We're still here," he says, "And Erik is all the joy I could ask for. I've done my best to save up, tucked away a little money for him here and there...but it won't be enough to buy him good armor, the kind that would keep him safe for a life on the road. And he's my only - the Frostfruit will be his, one day. I just hope by then he doesn't resent it."

In the past, Vilkas couldn't have imagined being living the simple life - working the land, listening to others' glories that passed him by. But - if by some miracle, he and Miri finish their quest, if they both live to see a sunrise without dragons of old...it's not so impossible to see, tilling fields at sun-up, coming in every night to his lovely wife. Wife, surely by then, and an image flashes before his eyes - Miri greeting him hot and sweaty from the fields with a cool ale, their son on her hip and her belly swollen with another -

Vilkas pulls himself upright with a snap as his wolf beats at its cage, throwing itself against his mental bars and howling like a mad thing. It's a stark reminder of what he can't and won't have with this affliction - no neighbors are going to overlook his 'furry problem'. The simple life was gone for Vilkas the second he drank the blood, took the oath.

Still. "I love you," he murmurs to Miri, under his breath. She looks at him in surprise, and then smiles, leans her head against his shoulder and laces their fingers together under the table.

...

They leave Rorikstead in the heat of the midday sun, just as Erik is coming in to cool off. And, Vilkas thinks, with a lighter pack - Miri slipped a generous satchel of coin and a handful of steel bars underneath their lunch table before they left. "We won't be back to Whiterun for a while yet," she'd said as they mounted up. "The bedroom set can wait."

They ride hard once again, pushing the horses as they continue the trek northward. Their pace slows as they come to the foot of the mountain range, and let the horses rest as they come upon a broken-down shanty.

"Best chance to let the horses cross here," Vilkas says, and nods at the shack. "This is the narrowest point on the River Hjaal. But..."

Miri looks to him, and he grimaces as he sniffs the air. "Stench of decay," he says at last. "Could be just rotting mudcrabs."

"But you think it could be otherwise," she says. He nods, and she sighs. "Well," she says. "I can shield the horses' hooves from the crabs. Best not to take our chances."

"That's not all," he says grimly, and points to where a lone dragon circles the peak, shrieking its hunger.

Miri blanches, drawing up short beside him. "We need a plan," she says, her voice wavering with fear.

In truth, Vilkas doesn't feel much better, but he's more practiced at hiding it. "They seem to be drawn to heights," he says. "The top of the guard tower in Whiterun, circling around the peak like this. I think our best chances are to stay low on our mounts, run the through the valley as quickly as we can, and hope it grabs some mountain creatures as easier pickings."

Miri shivers. "And if that doesn't work?"

"You're a fine shot," he says. "And it's a beast like any other. You bring it down to me with arrows and magic. I run in and attack its hindquarters, see if I can pierce its belly while it's snapping at me. You stay at a range, if you can, see if you can get it with something it's weak to, hit it with another arrow if it tries to fly up again."

Miri draws in a shaky breath, lets it out slow. "Alright," she says. "I don't like it, but it's a plan."

"Stay close to me," he murmurs, and they urge the horses into a gallop.

The baying of his wolf keeps Vilkas calm - he'll draw on his power if he needs to, if it's to keep her safe. The wolf isn't afraid of the hunt, the chase - the wolf is rarely prey, and delights in taking down creatures twice its size...especially to protect a mate.

But better to protect by avoidance, if they can. _Come on,_ Vilkas thinks, and urges his mare faster.

Fortunately, the horses carry them away from the mountain without incident. As the horses tire, they cautiously slow and, with a last glance to the skies, they straighten and pull up to a stop.

Vilkas's pulse is pounding in his ears, and Miri looks badly shaken but otherwise unharmed. "You okay?" he asks, and she nods. "Let's go," he says, and urges the horses into a trot as they ride up to the town.


	19. First Quarrel

Morthal is just as swampy and horrible as Vilkas dimly remembered it. "We should ask around, see if someone can point us in the right direction," Vilkas says. "Maybe we can rent a room, get some rest and then..."

"I'm talking to the Jarl," Miri says, mouth set in a hard line as they dismount. "With a dragon that close to his hold, he needs to know."

"Miri - " He starts, and then stops, wondering how he should phrase it. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," he says finally.

Miri raises an extremely dubious eyebrow. "You don't think telling the local Jarl that a dragon is _circling the nearest mountain range_ is a good idea?"

"She," Vilkas says, "She's a woman. And it's not that," he says hurriedly, as Miri's other eyebrow rises to join the first. "She's...well. She's..."

"She's what, Vilkas," Miri snaps.

"The town thinks she's a _sorcereress,_ " Vilkas says.

He regrets the words the instant they leave his mouth. Miri recoils, stung. "Oh, and that's some crime, now?" she says, the hurt palpable in her voice underneath the anger. "I suppose you're going to tell me I misunderstood you."

" _Yes_ ," Vilkas gasps desperately, lunging to grip Miri's shoulders as he fumbles to explain. "It's not - she's not like you, with your sword, and your...the townsfolk don't trust her. What she does, it's unnatural...she let a wizard take up residence in the town -"

Miri yanks herself out of his grasp. "Then maybe we'd better have a talk. It sounds like she could use a friendly ear from someone who's just as sick of rumors and mistrustful looks," she says, voice gone icy cold, "Even from those who claim they love her, every time she goes for spell over shield!"

She slaps her reins at Vilkas, who catches them against his chest unthinkingly, staring after her as she marches into Highmoon Hall, nose held high. One of the guards looks to stop her, but stands aside hastily after a few words Vilkas doesn't catch.

Miri's horse whickers softly. "...She's coming back, right?" he asks. "She wouldn't just leave you behind."

The mare gives a dismissive snort and paws the ground. "Thanks for that vote of confidence," he mutters. "Women. Guess we'll wait for her at the inn."

His own mare gives a disgruntled huff, and won't be budged. "Not you too," he groans, and digs around in his pockets for a carrot. "Come on, you stubborn -"

There's a giggle behind him, like the sound of a little girl laughing, but when Vilkas turns, no one's there except a bored-looking guard.

"I hate this place," Vilkas grumbles, and drags the horses to the inn.

...

With an evening meal into him and directions to Ustengrav from the innkeep, Jonna, Vilkas is feeling considerably more charitable by the time Miri walks in. A bit of him is still irritated at her overreaction - but, also a bit guilty too. He obviously didn't mean it the way she took, even if he still isn't sure how he could've explained it better.

Miri looks guarded, like maybe she's still a bit angry...but she also looks unsure of her welcome, and that's no good. "Miri," he calls, and she comes over cautiously. "Come meet Jonna. She has an interesting tale to tell about the burned-out house over there."

"So, this is the sweetheart who heard you put your foot in your mouth?" Jonna asks Vilkas, eyes twinkling as she gives Miri a wink. "You were right. She _is_ pretty."

Miri gives a startled laugh and turns to look at Vilkas, who colors. "Thank you," Miri says, embarrassed but clearly pleased. "It wasn't all his fault. It just kind of...bubbled over. It's been a long day."

"My brother Falion's the same way," Jonna says. "We were travelers like you, but something about Morthal called to him. Felt a need here he couldn't explain, so. We came over. And it hasn't been easy for him here. His temper is hit-or-miss at the best of times, but he worries the way folk feel about him being a wizard will start translating into action one of these days."

Miri hums sympathetically. "I've been spit on, shouted at a couple of times. Pretty much as soon as my armor comes off. I'm sure it's worse for him, having picked a place to settle in."

Vilkas whips his head to look at her - she'd never told him that. "In Whiterun?"

"Lots of places. Not with you around, obviously," she says, rolling her eyes. "You're the perfect Nord, and a Companion to boot. No one would so much as breathe on me wrong with you looking. It's when I'm out by myself running errands that I get into trouble."

"It's an especially bad time to be a mage, too," Jonna agrees. "What with the dragons suddenly rising. All the Holds are on the lookout for some - dragon necromancer." She huffs. "As if there's anything more ridiculous. It would take ten men to reanimate a single dragon for as much as a second or two, much less come back with perfect flesh and scales. My brother's one of the most powerful mages I know, and he says there's no way it's a single, rogue mage. Doubts it's even a group of them - somebody would've heard about it or seen it by now."

"I know," Miri huffs. "The amount of power it would take..."

Jonna nods grimly. "That's why folk are so frightened, I think," she says. "Nords don't trust mages as far as they could throw them, but even the Nords have to admit, powerful mages don't spook easily. When the wizards of the College and the courts are just as lost as us ordinary folk...that scares people. They start jumping to conclusions."

"Mm. And I think people who don't have any affinity for magic don't realize it's strength-based. People who do little healing spells and charms in a village aren't going to suddenly be able to leap up and do sustained necromancy of a magical creature," Miri adds. "It's an entirely different school of magic, and drains mana way faster than most other types of casts. The energy transfer to create life from death doesn't just come from nowhere."

Vilkas looks at Miri in amazement as Jonna throws back her head and laughs. "Now you _really_ sound like Falion!" she says. "I'll have to introduce the two of you; seems like you're as bad as each other when it comes to magical theory."

"I've done my fair share of reading on the subject," Miri admits with a grin. "Best to be prepared for anything."

"Something we could all live by," Jonna agrees cheerfully. "So, dear - what'll you have for dinner?"

Miri orders what Vilkas has come to recognize as her pre-battle meal-- bread, cheese, and fresh broth; no heavy meats or ales. As Jonna spins away to go cook, they grab a seat at a nearby bench. "I'm sorry," they say in unison--and smile at each other. All of a sudden, it's fine. Vilkas feels the tension in his shoulders ease. _All is forgiven._

"No," Vilkas says, and tugs her close. "Don't apologize. I shouldn't have judged someone for something I know nothing about before meeting them. And--"

"My turn," Miri interrupts, with a cheeky grin that softens as she throws her braid over her shoulder. "I shouldn't have yelled at you," she says. "You're on my side, always, and I know that. And I know you lost your parents to spell-casters. I got tired and hungry and lost hold of my temper, and I shouldn't have."

Vilkas kisses her temple. "My turn," he retorts, firm. "Watching you, just now..." He rubs the back of his neck, self-conscious. "It made me realize that...I haven't been attentive to you at all."

"Vilkas," Miri says, with an incredulous laugh. "If following me on this quest and carrying all my gear without complaint is _inattentive_..." 

"Following without listening. Seeing," he says. "You've been incredibly patient learning to live in my world - letting us teach you the footwork, mechanics, working day and night to train with us until you learned them well enough to teach to a stranger in Rorikstead - and I haven't done a thing to be better at living in yours."

"That's not fair to yourself," Miri says. "I can't teach you magic the same way you taught me how to defend myself with sword and shield. And I came to you because I needed to learn; I didn't do it because I wanted to learn more about you." She smiles, twirling her amulet through her fingers. "Though I can't say I'm not happy that I did," she adds, soft and pleased.

"Jonna isn't a mage either, is she? But she still knew what you were talking about. Expected it, even. Knew what to say back to you. And I just...upset you. Hurt you." Vilkas shrugs, looking down at his lap. "And I shouldn't have. Not you. You're my girl." He looks back up at her helplessly.

"You're being too hard on yourself," Miri says, reaching a hand over to squeeze his shoulder. "You heard Jonna. Falion is her brother and traveling companion. Which means she's grown up with him doing magic, listened to him talk about it for years. All kinds, healing and destructive, baby magic and accidents, fun magic to play with. It's a lot different when you're...I don't know, conjuring a sled to take you down a steep hill, or making a campfire to roast meat by."

"You don't use it like that," Vilkas says, careful to keep his voice neutral. "With me."

"Because any magic makes you jumpy, and not without reason," she says carefully. "I didn't want to push you."

"Push me, then," Vilkas says, taking one of her hands in both of his and squeezing gently. "Make me pay attention. If it's a part of you and it makes you happy, it's something you have that you're good at, I should know enough about it to get by."

"I could....I could probably teach you some basics," Miri says slowly. "The big concepts, theories. What I've picked up between combat and books."

"I'd like that," Vilkas says. He smiles at Jonna as she sets a plate for Miri in front of them, and she gives him an encouraging little wink. "Maybe, after Ustengrav...maybe you could tell me about some when we come back here."

Miri's face is suffused with happiness - Vilkas feels like a fool for not seeing it before. "I will," she promises, tearing a hunk of bread off for herself. "Any time you want."

They're silent for a while, Vilkas lost in thought and Miri eating her dinner. After a little while, she murmurs, "My turn."

"Mm?" Vilkas asks, startled out of his thoughts. "What is it?"

"...I think Jarl Idgrod could take down a dragon with her stare," Miri confesses. "It's not that she's a sorceress...but she's really terrifying and I should've let you warn me."

Vilkas throws back his head and laughs. "That's the impression I get from the townsfolk," he says. "Now. Why don't you finish eating while I get us a couple of rooms?"

"I thought we were going to Ustengrav directly," Miri asks. "You said it wasn't good to sleep at night here?"

Vilkas shrugs. "Better to get them now, so we aren't waking Jonna too early when we come back. Not like she's got a place that's packed to the gills here. She won't kick us out of bed in the morning."

"Okay," Miri agrees. "Gives us some place to store our things, too."

"Mm." Vilkas gets up from the table, and then after a thought occurs to him, turns back. "Miri...should I get us one room? Or two?"

She smiles up at him. "I'm wearing your amulet," she says. "Are you going to be disappointed if we aren't proper?"

"No," Vilkas says, mouth dry. Is she...?

"Just the one, then," she says, with a little grin that suggest yes - yes, she is.

Vilkas swallows hard and goes to pay for a room while Miri finishes eating, sticks their excess gear in the trunk at the foot of the bed until all they're left with is potions and food. Keeping himself busy isn't really taking his mind off her body pressed against his in the large, comfortable Inn bed where no one knows them, but at least then he's not doing anything as moronic as tearing her clothes off and carrying her to bed like spoils of war, quest be damned.

Now maybe he's thinking about that, too. Dammit.

"Ready to go?" Miri asks as he sits back down next to her on the bench. His dick jumps so hard he feels like it ought to have made a great thunking noise against the underside of the table. Then he remembers that she's asking as his traveling companion, not his lover, and he sighs. No mood killer like ancient Nordic tombs. "We're ready," he confirms. "Let's get moving."


	20. A Quest Delayed

Ustengrav doesn't prove too much of a challenge for them - the space is wide, cavernous, and oddly crowded. Mages and bandits pick each other off as they sneak up to the entrance, leaving them only the stragglers to deal with, and the Draugr inside go down easily to bows and fire before Vilkas can even get in range enough to swing.

Then they reach a deeper part of a cavern, and Vilkas gets to watch for the first time (with ears covered) as Miri gains entrance to a secret section of the cave by using a Shout. She goes from standing on a stone to past all three gated doors within the blink of an eye, and draws a handle to the gate to let Vilkas in with a smile. "Pretty useful, huh?" she asks.

"Useful, maybe," he says. "But my back teeth are still rattling."

"You can see how all of the rumors about Ulfric and Torygg began," she says, and beckons him forward.

It's easy to lose track of time, but Vilkas thinks it's well near midnight by the time they wind their way through to the main chamber. Vilkas can feel his own strength growing as the moon presumably reaches its height above-ground, but Miri looks wan after a long day on the road. Except...

"This can't be the last chamber," Vilkas says. "No horn."

"No horn," Miri agrees grimly. "If they were speaking in riddles, I swear..."

They fall silent as they approach. A folded letter sits on the main pedestal in the room, perfectly centered and not looking aged more than a few days. 

"Careful, it could be a trap," Vilkas says. After, he feels a little foolish; surely Miri has proved to him by now that she's more than capable of judging obvious traps for herself - but she doesn't appear to take offense, nodding firmly and snatching it away quickly.

When nothing shoots out at them, explodes, lets out poisonous gases, or other manner of unpleasant things, Miri gives a little huff and opens the letter. She scans it, eyes wide, and then they narrow as she reaches the end. "Oh, for the love of-" She bites off the end of her sentence, appearing to tamp down her anger, and then turns to Vilkas. "So," she says, "Someone is apparently holding the Horn hostage, and I intend to find out who. How do you feel about a trip back to Riverwood?"

"Great," Vilkas lies, thinking about their nice, soft bed in their nice, quiet room at the Inn.

"I want to see if we can work out the whole thing with the ghosts from the burned-out house first, though," Miri says. "Should be nearing the time they show up. And..."

"And?" Vilkas asks.

"And," Miri repeats. "Well, we could be walking into a trap, like you said. I know you don't need much sleep, but you did already rent us that bed." She smiles innocently up at him - though, now that he's learned to read her better, he thinks he can see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

Mara bless, he loves her. "I think that's wise," he says, with a hearty swallow, and quickly jogs after her as she finds the hidden exit, heading for the world above.

...

"So," Vilkas says quietly. "Vampire country."

They're making their way to a nearby hot steam bath - the sole redeeming quality of Morthal - after helping a little ghostling reunite with her mother and father one last time after freeing the family from Alva and her master's Thrall. He can feel the unhappiness rolling off of both of them in waves - helping a little girl to pass on is something he thinks neither of them can feel full closure from.

Miri nods. "You told me," she agrees. Her voice is quavering and small, like she's been crying. Vilkas comes closer, taking her hand. She squeezes it tightly, adding, "No little girl deserves that fate, but especially not one as sweet as she was."

"Mm." Vilkas nods tightly. He himself is still lit through with flashes of anger, every once in a while - that her parents could be weak enough to get taken in. That their own marriage bond wasn't strong enough to protect their daughter from them.

"When we get married," Miri says. "And have children..."

She trails off without finishing her sentence, shaking her head. "Sorry," she says, as they come up to the spring. "Idle thought."

"I want to hear your idle thoughts," Vilkas says, as he begins to strip his armor off. Across him, Miri is doing the same, and she straightens and looks at him as they're both down to their tunic and leggings, bloodied armor in two heaps on the ground.

"I was just thinking," she begins. Stops again. Her hands hover at the edge of her binding, hesitating, and then she pulls it together and away, unwraps the linen in one fluid motion until her breasts are in full, glorious display.

"Thinking," Vilkas coaxes, a little strangled. It's the first time he's seen her chest on full display, and he's hypnotized, her breasts little perfect handfuls. The moonlight illuminates her skin, her nipples stiff and peaked, and he wants to put his hands, his mouth on them more than he wants to breathe.

"Vilkas," she says, a little laugh bubbling up out of her as she moves to cover herself with her arms. It's the first time he's heard her giggle in a while - he's missed it. "I can't tell you when you're, you know!"

"I want you to be able to tell me anything," Vilkas says, stepping closer to her as he throws his own shirt to the ground, careless. It's an earnest entreaty, if a little more breathless than he means to be. "It's okay."

Miri's eyes are bright as she looks up at him. "It just feels funny to be complaining about vampires," she murmurs, eyes dancing. "When you're looking at me like you want to eat me."

It wasn't what she was going to say at first, but Vilkas doesn't care. He grabs her shoulders, wrapping himself around her tightly, desperately. They're kissing between one breath and the next, all of the pent-up tension coiling up, burning hot inside him.

He's hard quickly, embarrassingly so, but at least Miri seems to need the closeness just as much, her high groans punctuating the hiss of steam, the noises of the night. He tries to angle his hips away from her a little, but she gropes for his hips and, grabbing two handfuls of trousers, pulls him in, so he guesses she doesn't mind.

"Miri," he gasps, panting. Every beat of his heart is joyous and loud, and only thrums brighter as she moans, "Vilkas."

"Come here," he growls, and spins her around, holds her tight and knocks his length against her as he grinds upward, a release of pressure and a promise. She gasps and shoves back against him, whines for more as he palms her breasts, squeezes once, twice. "Yes," she hisses as he gets her nipples between his thumbs and pluck-pulls them. "Oh, Vilkas," she sighs, leaning her head back against his chest.

"Yes," he agrees, nosing at her neck. He wants so badly to bite, to claim, she smells so sweet and she's _his_ , it's _right_ , and he _wants_ and so does she, rolling her hips against him. Instead, he huffs a tiny sigh, tucks his face in her shoulder and lets himself ease, calm, back off. Slides his hands down her sides, squeezes her hips.

“Vilkas?” Miri asks plaintively, but he shakes his head, noses at her neck. “Let’s bathe,” he hums, kissing her shoulder. “Not safe out here. And we have a double bed to call our own for a few hours after we’re clean.”

She squirms impatiently in his arms- he can smell her arousal, under the sweat and travel grime, but it’s faint yet. Signs of a good night to come. “Vilkas, I—“

“It’s alright,” he says, kisses her again as he shucks his pants off, tugs at hers as he walks them towards the warm pools. “We can wash quickly and get back. We don’t have anywhere to be before daylight.”

With a relaxed sigh, she nods and reluctantly steps apart from him. She’s visibly blushing, but seems confident as she steps out of her own trousers and unders. “Ready?” she asks, and at his quick nod they step into the warm water together.

He’s entranced by her as she washes, undoing her hair and letting coppery strands tumble all around her, submerging herself with a breath and scrubbing her face afterwards. She spells her Restoration magic as she goes, touching up little cuts and bruises from the fight, and watching her bathe in the light makes something settle in Vilkas.

When she’s done, she turns to him and smiles shyly. “Do you want-will you let me—“ She waggles her fingers, making little trails of golden light in the darkness.

“I—“ Vilkas hesitates. “I’m not bleeding.”

Miri lets out a tiny laugh. “You don’t have to be bleeding out to use Restoration, Vilkas. It heals bruises and sore muscles, too,” she teases. “It’s okay if you don’t want to; I just thought it might feel nice.”

“Maybe later,” he allows. He still isn’t thrilled about the idea of any magic being used on him, even Miri’s, but he’ll allow that it’s a weakness that he has to get used to, if he intends her to be his. Which he does.

Miri doesn’t push the issue, simply nods and smiles as she steps out of the pool, bending sideways as she squeezes the water out of her hair. The angle is a good one, showing off her curves beautifully, and he bites his tongue to hold back the whine threatening to escape. _Alright, Vilkas,_ he thinks sternly at himself, shutting his eyes. _Clothes. Inn. Bed. No wolf-outs._

By the time he looks back up, stepping out of the pool as he shakes the worst of the water off, Miri is pulling her tunic over her head. The thin garment is nearly see-through to begin with, and he can make out the outline of perked nipples where the dampened fabric clings as she reaches for her discarded armor.

Vilkas swallows hard. _Clothes,_ he thinks, repeating his new mantra to himself. _Inn. Bed. No wolf-outs._

...

Miraculously, they make it back to the inn without incident. The evening is quiet, and the fire’s embers are cold as they fumble their way inside, both of them clumsy with eagerness. Vilkas doesn’t want to stop kissing her to walk, and she seems to be having the same feeling, so together they stagger backwards, Vilkas doing his best to steer her with hands nudging her hips in the right direction.

He mostly gets it right, but she trips over her own feet and gets tangled up with him, bumping her head against the doorframe as she giggles breathlessly. “Sorry, sorry,” she murmurs, grinning as Vilkas finally just picks her up and gently drops her to the bed, her amulet bouncing against her chest as she lands on the soft mattress.

Vilkas strips hurriedly, throwing his own clothing carelessly to the floor and scrambling on top of the bed. He feels like an overeager youth again, but she just keeps touching him in all of the right ways, shyly kissing and nibbling at his jaw, grabbing at his arms and digging her nails in as he teases her nipples through her undershirt.

With her help, he strips her shirt off of her and spends a long time simply touching and looking his fill. He isn’t sure how much of a warm-up she needs, or how much experience she has - and he bets, with her missing past, that it might be a sore subject. Better to play it safe, and let her be the one to move the pace along.

With that in mind, he presses kisses everywhere he can reach - the shell of her ear, the curve of her neck, the line of her collarbone. When he gets to a nipple, stiff and eager for his attention after his earlier teasing, he sucks it into his mouth carefully, swiping his tongue at the tender bud over and over. When he feels her stomach tighten, her back arching off the bed as she gives a breathy gasp, he switches to its twin, lavishing the same attentions until she’s shivering under him.

“Miri,” he says, as he pulls off, kissing her breastbone. “If you- you know that we don’t have to. We can stop any time-“

“You’d better not,” she says, eyes wide with dismay, and he laughs as he reaches up to give her cheek a long, lingering kiss. “Just wanted to be sure you knew,” he assures, and scoots down the bed until his face is even with her belly.

The first kiss he places makes her jump, and Vilkas can feel her stomach clench as he presses more little kisses around her belly button. A brief moment to brush his fingers against her sides confirms that yes, she _is_ ticklish there, and after enjoying her breathless laughter for a few minutes he resumes the path of his kisses, down to the waistband of her trousers. At her quiet “You can,” he Vilkas unlaces them and her underthings and slides them off of her hips, lets her sit up a bit to work them off her feet.

He’s almost frozen at the sight of her, drinking in her beauty, and her scent is equally overpowering at so close a distance. For once, he and his wolf are in complete agreement - they need to mate her, and they need to do it now.

“My beauty,” he murmurs, his voice gone low and husky. She blushes prettily underneath him, and he gently strokes down her thighs, puts just a bit of pressure with his thumbs to coax her legs open for him.

His first exploratory touch of her, no more than a light stroke with a fingertip, reveals that she’s slippery-wet with arousal of her own. Gently, he pets a thumb through her wetness until she quickly draws a hand to her mouth, muffling a soft cry. “Good?” Vilkas asks. “Or too much?”

“Not too much,” Miri bursts, and throws her head back to the pillows as he keeps rubbing, soft and slow. She’s wonderfully responsive - she’s full of sweet noises, so it’s easy to tell when he’s got a good spot and when he needs to adjust.

After a while of teasing strokes, Miri begins to rock her hips towards his touch, past the point of any lingering doubts. She gives him a soft, pleased cry as he slips a finger inside her, and his dick throbs in sympathy as she tightens around it. “Vilkas, love,” she sighs.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, just barely letting his fingertip slip inside her. She’s achingly tight, and he wants to push harder, but every fiber of his will holds him back - he wants their first time to be good for her. “I’m here, Miri.”

She has one hand fisted in the sheets, another hovering above her own belly - her fingers flex every time part of his hand brushes against her clit. “You can touch yourself too,” he murmurs, slipping a second finger in. “If you want to, while I’m inside you.”

He sees her swallow hard, and with a shaking hand reaches down to where Vilkas has his fingers inside of her. She rubs the top of his hand, takes a deep breath, and then gives his hand the barest of nudges so her fingertips have room to move on her clit. “Show me how you like to be touched,” he asks, and she gives him a quick nod.

Vilkas watches, mouth dry as she moves her hand quick and light, and they work in sync to bring her closer to the edge. Her breathing goes shallow, her legs gradually slipping open and her heart beating frantically as she nears her climax. “Vilkas,” she moans - and then again, more insistently, “ _Vilkas_.”

“Gonna come for me?” he asks, and she nods vigorously, wide-eyed with sincerity. Her belly jumps, shoulders pushing hard into the bed as her back arches, and she comes with a choked-off gasp as she squeezes and releases around his fingers, riding out the waves of her orgasm.

He lets her have a moment to breathe, smiling at her dazed expression as he gingerly slips his fingers out of her, doing his best to discreetly wipe them in the sheets. She tips her head to the side to look at him, and after a moment she says, expression somewhere between blissed and cheeky, “I have lambskin in my pack, if you need it.”

“By the gods, I’m going to _marry_ you,” Vilkas exclaims, and dives for their packs without an ounce of shame. Miri laughs at his eagerness, and it’s friendly, warm. “I should hope so,” she teases, “Especially with us laying together like husband and wife.”

“I love you,” Vilkas says, looking at her helplessly as she smiles softly back at him. “I—do you need, potions? Or—“

She shakes her head. “Mages _make_ the potions,” she says, and her gaze is so hungry that Vilkas nearly throws the condom out of his hands and has her right there. “Dibella bless us,” he mutters, slides it on with a few smooth strokes.

Sufficiently readied, Vilkas rolls onto his back. “Vilkas?” she asks, and he pats his thighs. “Like this,” he says. “If you want. Been told it’s more comfortable.”

She gives a nod - whether it’s assent from willingness or experience, he doesn’t know, but as he holds his cock tight, groaning as she slowly sinks onto him, he finds it doesn’t much matter. “Gods, Miri,” he moans, and she smiles, her hand coming up to gently stroke along his cheek as she seats herself fully. “Good?” she asks.

He looks at her like she’s insane, and she laughs, bending to give his lips a quick peck. “Good for me too,” she admits with a little grin, and tentatively lifts up, sinks herself down with a blissful sigh.

From the moment Miri begins to ride him in earnest, Vilkas is lost. When she places her hands on his shoulders, steadying herself as she lifts herself up and down on his cock in a gentle rhythm, he feels more anchored than he's ever been, her presence tethering his feral half in a way no meditation, spells or potions have ever managed.

He does his best to please her - pays careful note to her faces and noises, tries to hold himself so he rubs inside her at her most sensitive spots. Since she came once for him before, it doesn't take long for her to bring herself to the edge again, and as she begins to get close, Vilkas closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her squeezed tightly around him, listening to her sigh and gasp into his neck.

He can feel her rhythm start to falter as she starts to get close to coming for the second time, her thighs beginning to shake. He opens his eyes and leans up to kiss her, his hands rubbing and pinching at her perked nipples - but it's hard to fully focus. He's getting close to coming himself and her slow pace is maddening - each time she lifts away, she slides back down onto him with no hurry. As tight as she is, even just the pressure of being filled seems to be enough to bring her pleasure. 

It's so good, and yet, Vilkas craves more. "Miri," he sighs, using his own strength to thrust himself deeper inside her. Her startled, pleased cry is music to his ears - he wants to hear it as many times as she'll let him.

As he begins to snap his hips up into her, Miri falls onto his chest, clutching tightly at his shoulders as she quickly clenches around him, again and again. "Love," she gasps, "Close, I'm - so close!"

"Good," Vilkas growls, and bites down hard on her neck. It's a little harder than he means to, but Miri doesn't seem to mind, dropping her head back and giving him better access. He laps and sucks at the mark he's left as he lifts her up and down by her hips, pumping into her as fast as the position will allow. "Mine," he says, slipping a hand between them to touch her as he tries to stave off coming himself. He doesn't want to, not yet - not until she's reached her peak.

She's much louder than he might've thought, and she whines as soon as his hand touches her, bucking into his touch. "Come," Vilkas groans, "Come for me, Miri, can't hold it much longer, need you to."

Miri suddenly squeezes him tightly to her, her grip crushing as she ducks her head into his shoulder, muffling her wail of release. Vilkas curses and follows suit, emptying inside her with a rush of relief he feels all the way down to his toes.

His strength fails him, and Vilkas collapses back onto the pillows, bringing Miri down with him. She grunts, but doesn't otherwise move - her breathing is still shaky as she rolls through the aftershocks, and Vilkas pets down her hair, utterly spent and equally contented.

They lie quietly together for a while, and then Miri groans, her magic flaring briefly. "Protective spell," she says. "But we should clean up too."

Vilkas grunts in agreement, pulling out of her. They clean and wash up together, Miri yawning through most of it - and Vilkas's bite a stark purple on her neck as she moves about the small room. She's beautiful, brilliant in the light of the setting sun - Vilkas doesn't know how he ever thought she was anything but perfect. "Come to bed, love," he urges as her head dips tiredly, and she nods and slips in easily as he holds the blankets up for her. 

"Could get used to hearing that," Miri murmurs, her eyes closing as Vilkas pulls the covers over her. "Sounds so nice."

Vilkas chuckles. "I'll say it as often as you like," he says, dropping a light kiss to the top of her head. "Rest well, my love. We'll ride for Riverwood in a few hours."


	21. A Clandestine Meeting

When Vilkas wakes Miri several hours later, she rolls over and groans into his shoulder. "Come on," Vilkas urges, rubbing her back. "I'm sure you must be exhausted, but we need to hunt down our thief before they disappear."

"I know," she sighs. Reluctantly, she staggers out of bed, dressing as Vilkas packs up the remainder of their things and picks up some lunch from the innkeeper. This time, with a goal in mind, they don't linger, riding as fast as they can to the small town they'd just past through.

The way is clear and easy, and they don't bother to stop, racing past guards, caravans and townsfolk on the smooth ride back. He can tell that Miri is frustrated - getting to the last room in the crypt had been hard work, and to come up empty-handed was infuriating. He thinks Miri is taking it particularly hard because she's familiar with the town to some degree. She mutters possible motives and suspects to herself on the way back, but by the time she gets there, she isn't any closer to a conclusion than she'd been several hours ago. Someone is playing them like puppets, and they're both tense and wary as they pull up to the Sleeping Giant Inn.

Delphine, the innkeeper, greets them as they walk in. She's sweeping up from lunch, ruthlessly brushing crumbs out the door, and with a last look at Vilkas, Miri walks up to her. "Hello," she calls. "We were hoping to rent a room from you. We've been told the attic room is the one to stay in?"

Delphine gives them a quizzical look, waving her hand around the space. "What you see is what we have. We're one floor only. But I do have a room open, if you'd like a place to rest. Ten gold for the night."

"We've been riding from Morthal, but we hail from Whiterun," Vilkas says. "We could make it home before nightfall. The trouble is, we're supposed to be meeting someone here, and the only tip-off they gave us is that we need to request the attic room."

"I'll tell you what," Delphine says. "You can use the room on the left over there to wait, if you like. I get most of the good gossip around here - I can keep an eye out for any strangers passing through. If it starts to be getting dark and you two want to head for home, I can let anyone who comes asking know to meet you both in Whiterun instead."

Yet another dead-end. What a waste of time, Vilkas thinks. But Miri is dead on her feet, and he'd at least like to coax her into sitting down, having a light meal. "We'll take you up on it," he says. Miri protests, but he steers her into the room gently, a hand at the small of her back. "Let's just wait for a little while," he says. "Maybe they got confused. I'm sure Delphine will send anyone who comes looking for us in."

Miri nods, sitting down on the room's small single bed. Vilkas sits next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into him. "I hate this," she murmurs. "I wish we knew what we were doing. What we were up against."

"I know," Vilkas soothes. "It'll be okay. The Greybeards obviously know something. If we can't find the Horn, we'll bring them back the letter and let them know that you made it to the last chamber, but it was stolen."

"I just hope they accept it as good enough," Miri sighs. "I'm so sorry. I feel like I dragged you out there for nothing."

Vilkas ruffles her hair. "Don't worry," he says. "I told you before. You lead, I'll follow. We'll keep digging until we find the answers we're looking for."

They sit in companionable silence for a while - Miri explores the room a bit, and discovers a book on the Great War that she's eager to read. Vilkas reads over her shoulder for a bit, but he knows what the outcome was, so it's much less interesting to him than to her and her lost memories. Finally, he decides to do a bit of gear maintenance, and is sorting things to polish, sharpen, or sell when Delphine knocks on their door, letting herself in. "Hello," she calls. "Miri? And...Vilkas? I hope I'm not disturbing you."

They shake their heads. "No news?" Vilkas asks.

"Well, we don't get a lot of travelers in Riverwood," Delphine says. To Miri, she adds, "So. I think you're the Dragonborn I keep hearing so much about?"

Miri startles, looking up from her book in surprise. She and Vilkas exchange a glance - so close to their hometown, it isn't really a secret, but they haven't exactly been proclaiming it far and wide, either. "Yes," Miri says slowly. "I guess I am."

"Then you'll be looking for this," Delphine says. She produces a spiked horn in deep blue, and hands it over to Miri. "The horn. I'm the one who left you the note."

Miri opens her mouth to speak, but Delphine beats her to it. "Not here. Walls have ears. But we do need to talk - follow me." Turning to Vilkas, she adds, "And you, as well. I would think that you would also be interested in hearing what I have to say, if you plan to travel with her."

Without another word, Delphine strides out. It's a warrior's march, so different from the meek innkeeper she'd been only a few seconds earlier. "Miri," Vilkas says, voice lowered. "This could be a trap. We don't have to follow her in there. The horses should be rested; we can pack up and ride for Whiterun if you want to."

Miri's staring at the horn, turning it over in her hands, running a thumb over the spiked edges. Finally, she hands the horn to Vilkas. "She seems to know something. And the town trusts her. I'm going to take that chance," she says. "But if something happens - I need you to promise you'll get that horn to the Greybeards."

Vilkas shakes his head, pushing it back at her. "No," he says. "I stay with you. Even if she's dangerous, she isn't very big - you and I can take her, if we need to."

Miri swallows. "Okay," she agrees, tucking the horn into her pack. "She gave us the horn, at least. Worst comes to worst, we run, and get it to the Greybeards. They'll know what to do from there."

Their decision made, the two walk out behind Delphine, following her into a room on the opposite side of the inn. "Close the door behind you," she instructs - Vilkas does, and when it's fully closed, she opens the closet and presses a button, hidden behind layers of spare clothing. "This way," she says, and they follow her into a stone cellar.

The room is incredible - it's clearly been designed as a shelter, weapons racks lining the walls, a gear chest, barrels of food, and some alchemy ingredients, along with an alchemist's table in one corner. "So," Delphine begins, placing her hands flat on the table. Beneath her lies a map, much like Miri's own, and it's been hand-written and scribbled on in a variety of places. "The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right."

"I am," Miri says. "Whatever that means - which no one has told me either," she finishes, bristling. "Drop the cloak and dagger act, or Vilkas and I walk."

"I won't apologize for that," Delphine says. "I'm in hiding from the Thalmor, but I'm not your enemy. I already gave you the horn back. I'm actually trying to help you, but I need you to hear me out."

"Funny way of showing it," Vilkas mutters. "But we're here, listening. Talk."

"I didn't go to the trouble of taking the horn on a whim; I needed to make sure you were who you said you were and not a Thalmor plant," Delphine insists. "I knew the Greybeards would send you to Ustengrav if they suspected you were Dragonborn; they're nothing if not predictable. But I don't work for them - I'm part of a group that's been looking for a Dragonborn for a very long time. If you're telling the truth."

"Why?" Miri asks. "Why look for a Dragonborn? I don't have any idea what's happening, or why, but you seem to know what's going on."

"My organization remembers what most don't," Delphine explains. "The Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon-slayer. Dragon's souls are very nearly immortal; you're the only one who is able to kill them permanently, by absorbing their soul. Since you're standing in front of me now, I assume that you've done it before."

Miri nods. "That's how I discovered I was one," she said. "And the Greybeards tested me. The final part of my test was to retrieve the Horn."

"Good. You'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough," Delphine says. "Here's the thing - the dragons aren't just coming back; they weren't gone somewhere for years. They were dead. My predecessors killed them off centuries ago, and buried their bones deep within burial mounds. Somehow, they're being given new souls and flesh and brought back to life - we know this, because the burial mounds we've been assigned to guard are all being emptied, one by one. And we think we know where our next target is."

Miri and Vilkas exchange a look. "We'd guessed as much - adult dragons would be hard to hide," Miri says. "But they'd also be hard to resurrect. And hearing it is...different. How can you be sure? I mean-" She pauses. "You do know how crazy this sounds. Right?"

"Oh, I know," Delphine says with a laugh. "A few years ago, I said almost the same thing to a colleague of mine. Well, it turns out, he was right and I was wrong." She taps a spot on her map. "Here. This is Kynesgrove. We know that there's an ancient dragon burial site there, but we haven't received reports of any dragon attacks. Yet. So I'm going there to check it out."

"And do what?" Vilkas asks. "Wait for it to come back to life?"

"Yes," Delphine agrees. "And I'd like for both of you to come with me, and help me kill it. If we can get there before it happens, we may be able to find out who's behind the resurrections, and how to stop it."

"Frankly," Miri says, "And I mean no offense, but you haven't given us a lot of reasons to trust you. What's stopping me from traveling back to High Hrothgar and giving the Greybeards back their horn?"

"Absolutely nothing," Delphine says. "Like I said, I'm trying to help you, and I gave you back the horn already. And you're welcome to do so, if that's what you choose. I can take one down; I have the weapons and the armor to be able to fight it off. But without a Dragonborn to swallow its soul, it will come back, again and again. And, from what I've heard of you, you're curious, and a bleeding heart," she says, grinning shark-like at Miri. "I don't think you'd really leave the people of Kynesgrove to suffer. So, talk amongst yourselves if you like, but I'm putting my traveling gear on. You can decide if you're joining me or not."

Without further ado, Delphine walks over to the gear chest, and pulls a set of leather armor on. "Do what you like. I'll wait upstairs for a few minutes while you decide."

As she goes upstairs, shutting the closet door behind her, Vilkas and Miri turn to look at each other. "So," Vilkas says. "Two leads. Which do you want to follow up on?"

Miri sighs. "I'm not sure," she says. "I don't think I trust Delphine, not fully. She clarified her best guess as to what's going on, and she was more specific than the Greybeards, but I don't know that I agree with her methods."

"No," Vilkas agrees. "I don't either. But they're both testing you, and neither is sharing anything with us. If Delphine is telling the truth - then hers might be more urgent. The Greybeards wouldn't have sent you on such a long test if they felt that time was of the essence."

She rubs a hand over her face. "Yeah," she agrees. She looks up at Vilkas. "I think you're right. It sounds like we need to go to Kynesgrove first. Even if Delphine turns out to be our enemy - better to know early, and deal with her now. Worst case, if we go and don't learn anything, we can backtrack to Ivarstead and give the Greybeards the horn, and hope they know more."

"It's a plan, then," Vilkas agrees. "Let's go back upstairs, if you're done here. We can let Delphine know that we plan to come along, pick up our gear, and head out."

"Sounds good." Miri stretches up to kiss his cheek. "Whatever happens, I'll have you with me. And I have killed a dragon before - in Whiterun, when we didn't have any warning. Now that I'm prepared and we're armed..." She grins at Vilkas. "Just let it try."

...

The three hurry to Kynesgrove, arriving just before dawn. Vilkas is keenly aware that Miri is running on only a few hours of sleep, but fortunately her stamina doesn't seem to be suffering. They hitch the horses up at the Inn, and then follow Delphine's lead up the hill. "Come on, this way," she says. "Let's hurry. We made good time, but if my colleague was correct, we'll need every minute we can spare.'

They put the torches out as they round the bend. Miri's grip on Vilkas's arm gradually grows tighter as they get close - Vilkas isn't attuned to magic use the way she is, but the air is definitely humming with some kind of current. It feels like the presence of an oncoming storm, though the dawning sky is cloudless. "Shh," she whispers, and as she and Delphine quickly dart off the path and into the treeline, Vilkas hurries to follow suit.

Suddenly, an enormous, black dragon swoops into view, so quickly that Vilkas hadn't even been able to see him coming. They draw their bows, arrows at the ready, but Delphine holds up a hand, signalling them to wait.

" _Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!_ " The dragon's bellowing voice is incredibly powerful, like nothing Vilkas has ever heard before - he doesn't speak its tongue, but he knows a dark magic ritual when he sees one. Dragon bones slowly float up out of the dirt, gathering together. " _SLEN TIID VO!_ "

It's a three-word set - a dragon's Shout. Vilkas claps his hands over his ears as Miri stands, her expression cold with fury. Flesh knits onto bone, and though Miri and Delphine begin to shoot, neither the black dragon nor its new companion seem to notice, pinging harmlessly off their targets as if no more than gnats. With a mighty roar, the second dragon comes to life - they've failed, Vilkas realizes; they haven't prevented its coming at all.

" _Alduin, thuri!_ " the second dragon booms. " _Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?_ "

" _Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir._ " Finally, one of Miri's arrows hits its target in the reanimated dragon's now very-real hide. Both dragons turn their heads toward her - Vilkas hurries to stand at her left, Delphine moving to her right, as the large black dragon's maw opens in a toothy grin. " _Ful, losei Dovahkiin?_ " As the black dragon asks the question, his counterpart smells the air. " _Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi._ "

Suddenly, the black dragon laughs, a vicious, grating sound. "So amusing," he says, tossing his head. "You do not even speak our language, do you? Such arrogance, to dare to take for yourself the name of Dovah."

"Only if we don't strike you down," Miri says, loosing another arrow, this time at the black dragon's eye. He deflects it easily, and the arrow bounces harmlessly off a wing as he resumes his flight. " _Sahloknir_ ," he calls, turning back to the grounded dragon. " _Krii daar joorre_."

As the black dragon flies out of reach, Miri swears. The grounded dragon roars, surprisingly shrill for such a large creature, and follows it with a blast of frost breath that the three have to quickly jump away to dodge. "Greetings, little mortals," he says. "I am Sahloknir, Champion of the great Alduin."

"You won't be for long, dragon," Delphine growls. "A beast we will slay like any other, and the Dragonborn will rend your soul from your bones."

Sahloknir laughs. "You may try," he says, and blasts them with frost again. "But my lord Alduin has told me he requires your death - and I am glad to oblige him."

He takes off with a beat of mighty wings, blowing them backwards. "Shoot him!" Delphine cries, and the trio peppers him with arrows. Vilkas is no great shot, but he's learned a thing or two from Aela, and some of them hit their mark, burying neatly in the dragon's side as he covers the ground with icy blasts. "Try to bring him down," he calls to Miri, and she nods - her arrow tips are lit with her flame, and though it's difficult to tell, Vilkas thinks they actually seem to be doing some damage.

Though they fire shot after shot at him, Sahloknir takes his sweet time returning to ground. When he does, he lands in a rush of displaced air, and immediately opens his jaws to bellow. Vilkas, seeing an opening, rolls to get behind him, and begins to hack desperately at his tail.

He gets a roar of pain for his troubles, and has to quickly move out of the way as the dragon's teeth snap shut just inches from where Vilkas had stood. The dragon's brief inattention gives Miri a chance of her own - she returns her bow to her back and blasts the dragon with a heavy column of fire, streaming from both of her hands. Delphine, picking up on Vilkas's plan, rolls out until the three are standing in a triangular formation, each of them hitting him with every ounce of power they possess.

Miri strikes the first blood, her flaming shortsword hitting him directly in the face. He roars in pain - and then lifts off again, putting some distance between himself and the group as blood trickles down his snout. "It's to be a real fight, then!" Sahloknir booms, and sweeps another icy blast across the battlefield. Vilkas barely dodges in time, and he hears Delphine cry out as the ice clips her shoulder. "Good! Your meaningless struggles amused me, but I too am eager to make an end of this battle."

As he flies in circles around them, harassing them with ice and snow, the trio continue to shoot arrows tipped with Miri's flame at him. With several of his wounds having opened up, they have a clearer target, and each shot clearly affects Sahloknir more as he attempts to protect his own injuries. Finally, he seems to acknowledge Miri's fire as the most dire threat, and lunges for her. Vilkas barely gets there in time, gritting his teeth as a sharp claw digs between layers of armor, but he plunges his sword straight through the softer skin at the dragon's neck - once, twice, three times.

At last, Sahloknir's strength fails him, and he falls to the ground with a mighty crash, his eyes slipping closed as he gives a last, defiant scream.

The group stops, looking around at each other - they did it. They actually did it. Three to one was no guarantee against such a beast, but they stood firm and defended Kynesgrove from knowing Helgen's fate.

Delphine is the first to move, breathing hard as she steps towards the creature's head. She stabs him with a shortsword of her own, and though the metal comes back dripping with blood, the dragon doesn't move. "I'll be damned," Delphine says, turning to grin at Miri and Vilkas. "We did it. That was well done." She steps back to the fallen Sahloknir, inspecting the fallen beast. "I've been wanting a look at one of these buggers," she says. "I....wait."

Delphine steps back as the dragon begins to glow with an orange light, scales falling off and crackling like wood in a hearthfire. "Something's happening," she shouts, but Vilkas already knows - though he hadn't seen it at Whiterun, Miri had told him about the experience. Miri closes her eyes, spreading her arms wide as she drops her head back, and a golden current begins to travel from the fallen dragon into her own body. Vilkas holds her by the hips, steadying her, as the light peaks in a blaze of orange and purple, and then slowly begins to fade.

"Gods above," Delphine swears, and then a little smile crosses her face. "So you really are...the Dragonborn," she says, and Miri gives her a pleased grin in return. Miri's strength seems to be restored, and she heads over to the pile of bones, all of its flesh and sinews stripped away once more. "Vilkas," she calls, "Can you help me pack some of these up? Leave the very big pieces, but we should be able to sell some of the ribs for a good price."

"I'll help," Delphine says. "It's the least I could do. And I'm sure you're eager for some answers. Go on. Ask me anything you like."

Vilkas listens as Miri begins to pepper Delphine with questions - though the heat seems gone from both women after a successful kill. Delphine explains that she belongs to the Blades, a secret organization of dragon-slayers who were dedicated to protecting the Dragonborn - usually born into the Septim imperial line. Since the fall of the Septims two hundred years prior, the Blades had begun to search for the next Dragonborn to guide and to guard - but with no living dragons, the group soon found itself without a purpose. "Until now," she says, grinning broadly at Miri. "Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them."

"It looked like they were performing some kind of ritual," Miri says. "They used a Shout. Do you know anything about it?"

Delphine shakes her head. "Not a damn thing. I was as surprised as you are to see that big black one. A dragon, raising dead dragons!" 

"I think I've seen him before," Miri says grimly. "If I'm not mistaken...that was the dragon that left Helgen in ashes."

"When Ulfric escaped from the Imperials?" Delphine asks. At Miri's nod, she groans. "Damn the luck. We're blundering around in the dark here - we need to know who's behind it all!"

"What's our next move?" Vilkas asks. "Surely you must have some ideas."

"Some," Delphine admits. "I can tell you who this benefits - the Thalmor. They're our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is."

"Why do you think it's them?" Miri asks.

"A couple of reasons. Motive, opportunity," Delphine says. "They're the only people who have a vested interest in a weakened Empire - which it will continue to be, as long as Skyrim is locked in civil war. They're mages - not that magic in and of itself is dangerous, but I'm hard-pressed to think of another group large enough in magical power to have raised that black dragon, if he's the first.

"Even the timing of it is fishy," Delphine continues. "The Imperials had captured Ulfric; the war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?"

"I suppose," Miri sighs. "I've heard only a little about them, and none of it pleasant. And you said they were after you?"

"My organization, as a whole," Delphine says. "The Blades have a Grand Master - at the time, he saw the Thalmor as the greatest threat to Tamriel. Perhaps they still are. So we fought them in the shadows, in the period leading up to the Great War." She spits. "We thought we were more than a match for them...we were wrong."

"So we need to find out what they know," Vilkas says. "About the dragons, or about what's happening."

Delphine nods. "The real question is, how?"

"What about the Embassy?" Vilkas and Delphine turn to look at Miri in surprise, and she shrugs. "I heard about it from a lady in Whiterun. The Embassy apparently is keeping her son prisoner. She tells anyone who will stop to listen about it."

"The Embassy is their center of operations in Skyrim," Delphine agrees. "If we could get in...hm." She sighs, chuckling. "Problem is, they keep it locked up tighter than a miser's coin purse. They could teach _me_ a thing or two about paranoia."

"But they would have the information," Vilkas guesses. "If we could get to it, somehow."

"Yes," Delphine agrees. "I'll think about it, and come up with a plan. I do have a few ideas...but they'll take some time to pull together. Why don't you both do whatever you need to do - stock up, resupply, what have you - and meet me back in Riverwood when you're ready?"

"Done," Miri agrees. "We'll help in any way we can."

"Especially if it means I get to put a dagger in some of those pointy bastards," Vilkas says darkly. "Wouldn't mind letting a few of them tarnish my blade."

Delphine gives him a lopsided grin. "You and me both," she agrees. "Alright. Well-fought - and thank you both for having my back. I'll see you there."

They wave as she jogs back down the path towards Kynesgrove. "So," Miri says. "Some answers."

"And a lot more questions," he agrees. "And, don't forget - you still have the Horn. We'll need to bring that to the Greybeards - you had said their master might have some answers."

"I'm still hoping he does," Miri says, nodding. "Though I feel like we're beginning to fill in some of the gaps. Don't you?"

"I hope so," Vilkas agrees, with a heavy sigh. He hoists his pack over his shoulder - it's much heavier than he usually travels, the dragon's bones weighing him down. "Come on," he says, reaching for her hand and giving it a little squeeze. "Let's get some coin, and re-stock our supplies. If we hurry, we can make it to Ivarstead in time for Wilhelm's dinner."

Miri's stomach growls audibly, and they both laugh. "I guess swallowing dragon souls isn't good enough to fill my stomach," she laughs, slinging her own pack over her shoulders. "Let's get going. I want some more of those ribs!"


	22. Return to Ivarstead

Vilkas and Miri arrive in Ivarstead just before sundown. As they approach the Vilemyr, Vilkas puts a hand to his lips, waving Miri down and away from the windows of the inn. "Shh," he whispers. "Listen."

Crouched near the door, they can hear Lynly's lute, the notes holding long and steady. She'd told them she never sang, only did instrumental songs, but her voice is unmistakable, quiet and wavering at first, but growing stronger as she gains confidence.

_Our heroine, our Breton, claims a warrior's heart_  
_I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes_  
_With her Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art_  
_Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes._

Vilkas looks to Miri to see her reaction - and to his surprise, she's crying, two fat tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. "That's all I've got so far," Lynly says, her voice faint through the thick oak. "What do you think, Wilhelm?"

"Miri," Vilkas says softly, and reaches to cup her face. She grins at him, sniffling a little, and quickly blinks away more. "Until today, I still wasn't sure if I could really do this," Miri murmurs, wiping her eyes. "I've fallen in love, and we've killed a dragon together. We’re close to finding out who did this. And - I have a _song_."

"You have a song," Vilkas agrees. "And within the year, every bard in Tamriel will know it. It's a good song."

She stands, reaching for Vilkas, and kisses him in front of the doorway, long and slow. He kisses her back eagerly - he would happily stand there and kiss her all evening, in fact, but she's over-tired and has a long climb tomorrow. "Come on," he murmurs, and reaches down to give her rear a little squeeze, hoping it will make her laugh. And it does - her eyes fly open in surprise, and she lets out a breathless giggle. "Vilkas!"

Vilkas does his best to look innocent for a moment - then he drops the act, and grins shamelessly. "C'mon, in you get," he says, opening the door. "Wilhelm and Lynly haven't seen us since I got your amulet, and had to endure all of my pacing. I want them to see it on you before we retire for the night."

"You're the worst," Miri says fondly as she steps into the fire-warmed inn. "Hello! Wilhelm, Lynly! It's good to see you!"

"It's our lass!" Wilhelm calls. "And her faithful companion - oh, and look what you're wearing," he says cheerfully to Miri, with a wink at Vilkas. "I suppose you'll be wanting the same room now?"

"Please," Miri agrees, flushing a pretty pink as she looks up at Vilkas. He puts his arm around her shoulders and smiles. "And a hot meal wouldn't hurt, if we can trouble you," Vilkas adds, tossing a few gold onto the bar.

"Coming right up," Wilhelm agrees. "Perhaps I can talk our Lynly into - oh, there she goes," he sighs, as the girl escapes into the kitchen. "My apologies; she's still very nervous. I've been trying to coax her into singing for our guests, but so far she's only willing to do it without an audience."

"We heard a little bit of the new ballad outside," Miri says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Can you please tell her I loved it? She has a beautiful voice."

"Absolutely." Wilhelm beams as he sweeps the coins into his pocket. "You two wait here. I'll see if I can fetch her - and if not, at least I'll get you your key!"

"Wilhelm," Miri says carefully. "I hate to pry - but is she okay? Is there anything we can do to help?"

Wilhelm sighs gustily. "I wish I knew. She's very careful with her details." With a sidelong glance at the kitchen, he says quietly, "There are - well, there are rumors. A few of the folks who come through here think she was in some real trouble in Riften. If it's money, I told her, she can just...I mean, I'm no wealthy man. But I have means, and no children. If it's a problem I could solve..."

"Miri here has to visit the Greybeards again tomorrow," Vilkas says. "Maybe I can see if I can pick up anything. You've been good to us; I think we'd both like to help." He looks at Miri, who quickly nods her agreement.

Wilhelm nods. “Thank you,” he says, quiet and fervent. “I’ll take anything you can find out. I do have some connections - if it’s another city she needs to go to, if she had any unfinished business...”

“I’ll do my best,” Vilkas agrees. “If the trip’s as long for Miri as last time, I’ll have at least a few hours to spare in the city, if not longer.”

Wilhelm nods, and they shake on it. “Thank you,” he repeats.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Vilkas says. “When I come back with a solution, thank me then.”

Lynly does come back after a little while, slipping in as quietly as she’d left. While he and Miri eat, he glances at her sidelong, cataloguing what he knows about her. 

Lynly’s younger than Wilhelm, but maybe not as much as he’d first thought - they look more a couple than father and daughter, certainly. She’s a Nord, both in looks and in accent, and she carries herself properly. And, though she looks at Wilhelm with obvious interest, she doesn’t wear Mara anywhere on her. She tends to relax a bit around Miri and other women, but the male patrons seem to make her a bit jumpy, and she flinches at loud noises - a mug hitting a table, raucous laughter.

If Vilkas were a betting man, he’d bet that she’s a runaway - a daughter, potentially, but more likely a bride. And he’s betting that Wilhelm’s rumors about her trouble starting and ending in Riften are spot-on - she looks at the door with fear in her eyes, like at any moment her past could walk in the door and bite her.

“I’m glad,” Miri says quietly, squeezing his arm. Vilkas, who has a mouth half-full of bread, asks “Mmf?” and then hurriedly chews and swallows. “What?”

“Glad that you’re looking into it,” she says. “They seem like they’d be a cute couple. But it’ll never work out if she’s afraid of every shadow.”

“Don’t go getting your hopes up,” he warns, putting a protective arm around her. While he’s sorry for Miri that her memories don’t seem to be flooding back, in a way, it’s almost fortunate. She gets a completely clean slate; gets to write her own story. “You’re my first priority. If I hunt around a bit and don’t find anything, I’m still coming straight back here.”

Miri smiles at him. “I know,” she says, “But I also know you. You have a keen sense for when something isn’t right. I think you’ll find out what’s really going on.”

Vilkas hums non-committally, standing up from his empty plate to stretch. His wolf does grant him the luxury of better stamina, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t eager to climb into a soft bed and rest his taxed mind and muscles. He takes the key Wilhelm gave him, handing it to Miri. “Ready for bed?” he asks. “I’m sure you must be tired.”

“A little,” she agrees, and yawns. “Long day tomorrow.”

“Aye.” Vilkas tugs her into a loose embrace, kissing his mark on her neck - it’s fainter now, but still evident, just peeking out from her collar. Maybe he’ll have to refresh it.

Once they get in their room, the gear comes off, stashed in the room’s small closet. To Vilkas’s pleasant surprise, Miri strips down fully, washing her unders in the nearby water basin. “You’re naked,” he comments, wondering if she’ll pick up on the heat in his voice.

“I am,” she agrees, turning to smile at him as she hangs them to dry. “Might regret washing these in the morning, if they don’t get dry fast enough - but I don’t know when the next chance we’ll get to really clean up will be, so. Better do it now.”

“I’m not complaining,” Vilkas rumbles, stripping his own clothing off and reaching for her. She comes easily, smiling broadly, and he tugs her back to the bed. 

She slides in, sighing at the warmth of the covers after the room’s chilly air, and Vilkas clambers in after her. She’s rolled onto her side, so he slots himself up against her back, spooning up against her. “Hi, handsome,” she says, snuggling into his embrace. “Gonna warm me up?”

“Mm. Would do a little more than that,” Vilkas admits, rocking himself against her gently. “Only if you aren’t too tired.”

Miri shivers as his hands come up to cup her breasts, his thumbs rubbing idly at her nipples. “Not too tired,” she says. “Especially if you keep touching me there.”

“Touching you where,” Vilkas asks, his voice low and teasing. “Right here?” He gives them a quick squeeze, and she groans, bucking against him. “Yes,” she murmurs.

“Tell me, love,” he coaxes, kissing her neck, gently worrying at his bite with his teeth. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Vilkas,” she whines, wiggling a little under his touch. She’s quiet for so long that he thinks she might have gotten too shy, but finally she admits in a quiet whisper, “I like it when you touch my breasts.”

A heady thrill of satisfaction goes through him. “Yeah?” he asks. “You like it, huh? Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” Miri says easily. She rolls her hips back against him, and Vilkas groans. “I like it too,” he says. “You’re so beautiful, Miri. I can barely keep my hands off of you.”

She arches against him, sighing, and Vilkas smiles into her neck, presses a kiss under her jaw. “How good does it make you feel, sweetling?”

“So good,” Miri groans. “Vilkas, love -”

“Aye,” Vilkas agrees. He grins, and then reaches up to nibble at the shell of her ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, leaning in to whisper, “Does it make you wet?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Miri cries out. One of her hands is fisted in the sheets, the other clutching Vilkas’s hip - he brings them both up to her chest, covering them and squeezing. “Will you play with them for me?” he asks. “I want to feel how wet we made you.”

She gives a shaky but eager nod, and he smiles, dusting a kiss against the top of her head. “Let me,” he says, and slowly walks his fingers towards her inner thighs, gently pulls her legs apart. A light, exploratory brush reveals that she told true - she’s sticky-wet, and she moans as he slides two fingers to rest against her clit. “How about this? Does this feel good?”

Miri nods. “More,” she begs - and Vilkas could deny her nothing. He holds her close, touching her with light, teasing strokes, never delving quite inside. “My love,” he croons, nuzzling against her neck. “You smell so sweet.”

“ _Vilkas,_ ” Miri groans - her magic flares briefly, a quick flash of light that settles underneath her skin. It startles Vilkas momentarily, and the pause is enough for Miri to wriggle onto her back. “Need you inside me,” she gasps, and tugs him over to lie on top of her. “ _Now_.”

Vilkas briefly looks over to the bedside table - and swears. “I need to get the -”

“Took care of it,” she says, and hooks a leg around his back, impatient. “ _Please_.”

“Okay,” he murmurs. He sucks in a breath as he lines himself up and pushes in, inch by inch. As tight as she feels, she’s wet enough that he slips in fairly easily - and she takes it beautifully, arching her belly up to meet him, her muscles going taut. “Tell me,” he says, bracing his hands by her head, “If I - if you need -”

And that’s the most he can get out, as her body ripples around him. Some part of him tries to be gentle with her, but he’s held himself back for too long, and he’s hard enough to cut glass. He thrusts inside her, fast and hard, pleased when she grabs his back and holds him tightly, letting her legs fall open. 

He swallows up most of her sweet little moans with hot, biting kisses, but both halves of him revel in her noises, the fact they’re pleasing their mate. He _wants_ her to make noise, wants the whole tavern to know that she’s his, and she _likes_ it.

Finally, Miri comes with a bitten-off cry, and Vilkas isn’t more than a second or so behind, emptying inside her with a gasp and long, drawn-out moan. As he pants for breath, he gently lowers himself to rest on top of her for a moment, and then rolls himself to the side with a grunt of effort.

As he stares at the ceiling, his breaths finally slowing, he feels a weight on top of his chest - Miri rolls onto him, resting her head on him as her arms encircle him in a loose embrace. He drapes an arm across her back in return, and they lie there for several long moments, basking in the easy silence.

Finally, Miri lifts her chin up, propping it on his chest. Vilkas cranes his neck to blink at her, and she smiles peacefully. “We need to clean up,” she says. “‘M getting cold.”

Vilkas acquiesces, climbing out of bed with her and washing up before crawling back in. There’s a definite nip in the air, and as she slides underneath the covers, he brings her in close, tucking the blankets in around them. “Just tell me if you get too warm,” he says - she nods drowsily, and he rubs idle patterns over her back as he listens to her fall asleep.

...

In the morning, they have a quick breakfast, and then go their separate ways, Miri for High Hrothgar and Vilkas for Riften, following up on Wilhelm’s first lead. “You Shout, as loudly as you can, if you run into anything you can’t handle,” Vilkas makes her promise - she takes his fussing with a smile, and kisses him goodbye before their paths split.

As Vilkas approaches the Riften gate, the same two 'attempted extortion' guards are standing on watch. They hastily jump aside to let Vilkas in, but he stops them with a hand. "Maybe you can help me," Vilkas says, low and short - his tone suggesting that he isn't interested in taking no for an answer. "Got a girl, maybe got mixed up with a bad crowd out this way. Maybe a deal gone wrong, or something else. Where should I be looking?"

The guards exchange a worried glance. "She's not ex-Thieves Guild, far as I know," he clarifies. "Doesn't seem the smuggling type. She's a little - soft."

"Haelga?" one suggests. "Got any marks of Dibella on her? Maybe she worked at the Bunkhouse."

"Don't think so," Vilkas says. "But I don't know for sure. If you think it's worth following up on, I'll take it."

They hurriedly direct him to the local Inn, known by the locals as "Haelga's Bunkhouse". As he expects, the guards continue to speak in a low whisper, not realizing Vilkas can still hear them as he slowly walks away: " _...think she could be mixed-up with the Black-Briars?_ " " _No_ ," the other guard responds. " _If it was the Black-Briars, she'd be dead._ "

It doesn't take Vilkas long to come upon the Bunkhouse - it's shockingly large, its thick and weathered wooden beams suggesting it's been a part of Riften as long as any of the neighboring structures. A female Nord is pacing between the bunkhouse and the nearby 'Bee and Barb,' half of her face covered in blue paint - a warrior, then. Her bulky armor looks out of place in the city of thieves, most of the locals wearing thinner garments - including her male Imperial companion, who looks more at home in a simple brown belted tunic. He's tending to a cut on her cheek, and Vilkas sits nearby, hoping to eavesdrop without attracting their attention.

"...have to be careful, Mjoll," the man says. "The Thieves Guild has Maven Black-Briar, and all of her Imperial friends, at their back. One snap of her fingers, and you could end up in jail, or worse."

The woman, Mjoll, lets out a frustrated sigh. "I understand, Aerin," she says. "But they represent the reason I'm here. I can't just ignore them."

"I know," Aerin says quietly. "But I don't want you to have to leave. You're the best thing that's happened to this city in a long time."

"It's your home, and we're going to take care of it." Mjoll stands, brushing off Aerin's attentions. "My cheek is fine. I'll be alright. I'm going to see if Brand-Shei has anything new that _isn't_ stolen."

As she strides off, Aerin heaves a long sigh, watching her go. It's obvious that he has feelings towards the Nord woman - whether they're requited or not, he seems to have information, and Vilkas doesn't have time to worry about stepping on feelings. "Hail," he calls, and Aerin raises his hand in confused but open greeting. "Vilkas, of the Whiterun Companions," he says, offering a hand. "I'm new to the city - you seem like a local. Hope you might be able to help me get around a bit."

"Aerin, from Riften born and bred," he says. His gentle smile is completely at odds with Mjoll's brusque nature - but, Vilkas supposes, that's how it goes. "What can I do for you?"

"I couldn't help but overhear," Vilkas says, lowering his voice. "I'm looking to help a woman who may have run into some trouble here in Riften. I understand that neither you nor your companion are supporters of the local Guild?"

Aerin's brows knit. "The walls have ears," he says. "You'll want to be careful who you ask questions of around here. Not that Mjoll is so careful...but she's a target. I wish she would be."

"I got that impression," Vilkas agrees, clapping a friendly hand to his shoulder. "Where's the best place to get a drink around here? My treat. Just want to learn a little more about the city."

Aerin looks him up and down, seemingly judging his intent - then he nods. "Follow me," he says. "I've helped Keerava out at the Barb a time or two. She'll give us a spot out of the way."

An Argonian barmaid runs the place, and at Aerin's look, she gives them a wink and steers them both into a supply room. "And I was never here," she says - seemingly a familiar refrain, as Aerin grins at her. "Thank you," he says, and shuts the door behind them. "Now," Aerin says. "I'm here to assist - but I must tread lightly. Give me some more information, and in return, I'll help you as much as I can."

"I can't tell you much," Vilkas says, "Partially because I don't know very much. There's a woman in my acquaintance - she's currently working as a barmaid, and is about as jumpy as a fox in a wolf's den any time the subject of Riften comes up. We think she might have some unfinished business out here - but she doesn't seem the type to run with the Guild."

"Looks can be deceiving," Aerin says. "For starters, most of the young women in this city either pass through here either work for the Guild, directly or indirectly, or work as 'waitresses' for Haelga next door. Even if they aren't in with the Guild per se, most home and business owners around here end up paying protection money into their pockets. So no matter how pretty the face, there's a chance she owes some debts to them."

"The only problem is," Vilkas says, "I don't think she's done either. She doesn't seem like she started off in life a working girl - it's in her accent, her posture. She might've run out of money, or run away from a wealthy family, but she seemed like she might have come from higher circles."

Aerin hums thoughtfully. "Well," he says, "I still think the most likely circumstance is something to do with the Guild - but it's run by the Black-Briars, who are the wealthiest family in these parts. They own a big estate; it's just across the way from here." His eyes light with recognition, and he continues, "Hang on a minute - how old is she? Is she...fair-haired? Fairly slim?"

Vilkas hesitates, not sure how much information to give - but Aerin waves a hand. "No, I understand. You probably shouldn't tell me, for her protection. But -" He holds up a finger. "The youngest Black-Briar, Sibbi, is currently in the Riften Jail on a murder charge. He had a young fiancée who apparently took her chances when he was arrested and ran away. I think the victim was his future brother-in-law."

Both of Vilkas's eyebrows go up. "Some kind of lover's quarrel?"

Aerin shrugs. "Sibbi is a womanizer of the lowest order," he explains, "And always has been. He's constantly in and out of the Bunkhouse - different women, different times of day. I don't see it; he's got the face and the attitude of a skeever. But his family has money, and he's not shy about throwing it around to get his way. It's possible that the girl's brother went to try to straighten him out, and ended up with his guts for garters for his trouble."'

"Thanks," Vilkas says. He stands, shaking Aerin's hand, and presses a few coins into it. "For your trouble."

"Just be careful," Aerin advises. "Sibbi's a snake, but he isn't in jail because the guards would really do anything. I'm sure he's mostly there because Maven got tired of dealing with him. Just go to the jail, and look at his cell if you've got any doubts. It's furnished like some people's homes. Just because he's currently behind bars doesn't mean he isn't dangerous."

On his way out, Vilkas thanks the hostess as well, tipping her a few coins. She gives him a little smile. "Don't end up dead," she says, and continues to wipe down the bar. "Or poisoned, stabbed, or pickpocketed. You look like you've got your wits about you, but be cautious."

The guards at the jail are inclined to be tight-lipped, but a few coins sends them on their way. "Just be quick about it," the guard murmurs, and Vilkas gives him a slight nod as he passes through.

Most of the cells are fairly typical, but it's easy to spot Sibbi's, furnished with a large bed, books, a foot locker for his goods, chairs and tapestries. He's reading a book when Vilkas walks up to him, giving him a sneer. "Well, well," he says. "If it isn't one of my mother's lackeys. Come to make fun of me, have you? Laugh it up; I'll be out of here as soon as my mother tires of 'punishing' me."

"Sibbi Black-Briar, I presume," Vilkas says. "Look. We'll make this quick. I heard a rumor you have a missing fiancée, and I'd like to know more about it."

"Oh! So you're after the family vault, are you?" Sibbi gives him a smile, cold and ruthless. "Well. As soon as I get my hands on Svidi, that little bitch, I'll wring her neck. Tell you what - if you can help me dig up a lead, I'll make it worth your while."

Vilkas is infinitely tempted to grab the keys from the guards and run his sword through the sleazy fucker, but he holds his patience through thin threads. The last thing he wants to do is make himself or Miri targets, no matter how tempting it is. "Tell me about her," he says.

"Got the voice of an angel, and long, flowing hair. She used to sing to me at nights; most beautiful voice you've ever heard." Sibbi shrugs. "Then she sent her asshole of a brother to come and kill me - for nothing. Some greedy little money-grubber. I was in the middle of tracking her down when my mother decided I'd do better in jail. Oh, I've killed plenty of people for her before," he adds, "So it's not about that. She's just upset that I aired the family's dirty laundry in public. What else was I supposed to do, anyway? At least I've got all of the comforts of home here...minus a woman's touch. But I'll have served my sentence soon enough. All you need to do is point me in the right direction."

Vilkas is sure. 'Lynly' is really Svidi, the missing Black-Briar to be. Not if he has anything to say about it, that's for sure. "It's funny you should say that," he says. "I ran into a tavern wench in Morrowind with a sly look about her. Pretty voice, too. Exactly like you described. Said she was on the run from Skyrim. Mighty suspicious, if you ask me. I asked around a bit and folks let me to you, so I thought I'd see if I could find out the _real_ story."

"Oho!" Sibbi smiles, and it's a mad, evil-looking grin. "So she thinks my family's influence only extends within Skyrim, does she? Well! She'll soon find out how wrong she was to cross me." He digs around into his pockets, and comes up with a key. "Here. You've done me a great service, my friend. Allow me to compensate you for the information - this key opens one of my stashes in the basement of the family meadery. Plenty of comers and goers, so you have nothing to worry about. Help yourself to any of its contents."

Vilkas hands him back the key. "Couldn't take it from you," he says. "If anything, I _could_ do with a bit of palm-greasing. The Companions are questing in Riften - nothing that would interrupt the family business, just a bit of Spriggan hunting and giant slaying. But I'd appreciate it if me and mine had our pockets as full leaving as entering the city - was hoping a bit of your influence would go a ways towards sorting that out for us."

"Absolutely," Sibbi agreed. "A real gentleman! Consider it done. I'll pen a letter to my mother and let her know. She'll inform the rabble."

"Much appreciated." Vilkas heads out with a casual nod to the guards, careful to keep his posture relaxed and his manner easy. He holds an easy stride straight out the Riften gates, and then takes a long, meandering path back to Ivarstead, first heading east in case any watchful eyes are tailing him. When dusk falls and he's sure he's alone, all of his senses on high alert, he ducks behind a rocky outcropping and shifts into his wolf form, putting his gear and armor in his pack (with clumsy paw-fingers) before quickly loping back to Ivarstead, bag between his teeth.

He changes behind the Vilemyr, well out of the watchful eyes of the townsfolk, and heads back in. After a conversation in questioning eyebrows and pointed looks, Wilhelm makes himself scarce, and Vilkas taps on Lynly's door. "Vilkas, from Whiterun," he calls. "Lynly?"

"Come in," she calls. Vilkas shuts the door behind him, sitting a careful distance away from her in a chair opposite her bed. "Lynly," he says quietly. "Forgive the intrusion, but Miri, Wilhelm and I have all been worried about you. We're just trying to help. I have a question for you."

Her eyes go wide and fearful almost immediately - his wolf picks up on the rapid hammering of her heart, the faintest tang of her cold sweat. "I think," he says. "Your real name is Svidi, and you're in hiding from the Black-Briars after Sibbi murdered your brother. Is that right?"

Her eyes begin to water, and she bursts into hysterical sobs, protectively covering her head with her arms. "He knows," she sobs, "He knows, he--he'll kill me! I've got to -"

"No one is killing _anyone,_ " Vilkas says firmly. "I had a little chat with him. Told him you'd gone east, to Morrowind. He doesn't know you're here, and I was very careful to cover my trail. It's okay. You're safe, for now."

As she breaks down into even harder sobs, Wilhelm opens the door a crack and pokes his head in. He shoots Vilkas an angry look when he sees the sobbing woman, and Vilkas shoots him a look right back - of course she'd be upset, who wouldn't be? Not like it was _his_ fault. With a sheepish glance, Wilhelm tiptoes in and pulls Lynly into a loose embrace. "You need to tell him the truth," Vilkas says gently, standing - it's a conversation that's best had between two rather than three, he thinks, and sees no need to be part of it. Where she goes from here is her choice. "I don't think Wilhelm's the sort of man who'll abandon you, but he deserves to know who and what you're running from. And you need to plan for a fast exit - I don't think you'll need one right away, not with the trail muddied, but you should think about getting further from Riften."

She gives him a tearful, determined nod, and Vilkas smiles at her before pulling the door shut behind him. He leaves them to it, sitting by the fire and warming himself from his night run as he does his best to tune out their conversation.


End file.
